Words That Escaped
by braveangel13
Summary: A blue folder, scraps of paper, and a pen. Nights sitting at desks with only the lamp on, scratching away while Sammy slept. The folder lived in the bottom of his duffle, tucked away from thought except for late at night. It all started in seventh grade. \\ Dean writes. This is how he and other people see the development of it. Wee!chester up through cannon. T for language.
1. Seventh Grade English

A/N: Hello, I just had a headcannon that Dean wrote, and so I started writing this. I have a couple small installments for it, so stay tuned! Happy reading, and have a lovely rest of your day!

* * *

He didn't care.

He didn't, really. It's not like he did anything wrong, right? Or at least, if he did, he couldn't remember it. His thoughts went back over the past class period, but he concluded that his behavior had been oddly good. He'd even turned in the homework for the entire time they'd been here.

But that was because he liked this class, oddly enough. Seventh grade wasn't turning out as sucky as he thought it would.

Anyway, he didn't care at all that Ms. Simmons told him she wanted to talk after class. It didn't matter. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"Dean?" She called, looking up from her desk to where he was standing.

"Yes?" he asked, looking down at her desk, reading the title of a student's essay. _Try, Try, Try Again_ it read.

"Dean, I wanted to talk to you about the latest assignment you turned in."

 _Nonononono,_ he thought, _please don't say it was horrible please don't say I have to redo it please don't tell me off please-_

"And I have to say, I was very pleased with your work." His head shot up, an incredulous look on his face.

"What?" He breathed.

"I wanted to say that you have real potential here in English class, Dean. Your writing style is engaging and I wanted to hear more from you when the assignment was over. I hope you'll continue to turn in work like that to me. I also wanted to say that if you have any extra writing pieces you're working on, I'd be happy to read them over for you. You don't have to write extra! But in case you do, I'm here."

 _Did you read the right name on your papers?_ He wanted to ask. Nobody complemented Dean Winchester on his school efforts.

"Th-thanks, Ms. Simmons," he felt like he was floating just outside his body. "I should go, I gotta get my little brother from the elementary school to walk home."

She smiled at him, a kind and genuine smile that made him feel appreciated and valued. "Okay Dean, sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow in class. We're going to start our poetry unit, I hope you're ready!"

The next day, Dean felt almost excited to walk into English class. Since it was the last class of the day, he waited through all the other classes in order to get there, his leg bouncing as he sat in wait.

Nobody was more surprised than himself when he sat down at his desk in Ms. Simmons' classroom five minutes before the bell, with his notebook out and a pencil in his hand.

When the bell rung, Ms. Simmons stood and walked to the board, where she wrote POETRY in large letters.

"Today," she proclaimed, "we're going to learn about poetry. Contrary to popular belief, not all poetry has to rhyme. Some of it doesn't have any structure at all, which is called free verse. And free verse poetry is the first kind we'll look at today. Here's an example." She walked over to the projector and placed it in the middle of the classroom before turning it on.

* * *

A not admitting of the wound

By Emily Dickinson

A not admitting of the wound

Until it grew so wide

That all my Life had entered it

And there were troughs beside -

A closing of the simple lid that opened to the sun

Until the tender Carpenter

Perpetual nail it down -

* * *

After reading it aloud, Ms. Simmons asked, "Does anyone have any idea what this poem means?"

 _Death._ Dean thought. _She's hurt bad but doesn't tell anyone until it kills her and the carpenter is nailing her coffin shut._

The morbid thought entered him without any real difficulty, as he'd thought about much worse things before. He waited as some girl answered the question with a tentative answer that wasn't anything like Dean's and he subtly rolled his eyes under half-closed lids.

He normally would have done it outright, but he still wasn't sure how he felt about doing it with Ms. Simmons right there while in her class.

"Does anyone else have any ideas?" She asked, eyes sweeping over the classroom.

Nobody raised their hand.

"Okay then, I'll choose someone. Dean, have any thoughts?"

He froze for a moment, looking up at her in shock like a parallel to yesterday.

But it didn't hold long before he relaxed into his seat and grinned lazily. "Well, Ms. Simmons, she's talking about death. She's hurt, but she doesn't say anything until it gets so bad that she dies."

The classroom was deathly silent for a whole moment before Ms. Simmons smiled brightly. "That's right, Dean. Very good. Now, I'll show you another example that is from a more recent author." She grabbed the current sheet off the projector and switched it with another one.

She read it aloud too and discussed it with the class again, except staying away from Dean this time. He zoned out for a little until the girl in front of him handed a small stack of papers to him.

"Take one, pass it back," she whispered.

He did as she said and looked that the worksheet that read HAIKUS.

"Alright everyone. In the last ten minutes of class I want you to look at this worksheet to see what a haiku is and how to write one. For homework I want you to write a poem on any subject, whether in free verse or haiku. If you choose haiku, I expect there to be a collection of them, not just one, and your free verse needs to be at least six lines. Okay, happy reading!"

Dean looked over the paper and quickly read it before the bell rung and he went to get Sammy before returning to the motel.

* * *

Dean sat at the table, pencil in hand. He glanced behind him again to make sure Sammy was still asleep, which he was. Dean chewed his lip nervously as he stared down at the blank paper before him.

 _Poetry is for girls!_ A side of him snarled.

 _But this is Ms. Simmons' class, and she_ likes _me. I should at least try for that miracle, if no other reason._

Hesitantly, he lowered his pen until it was hovering right above the page. Then, he wrote.

At first it was idle, random words catching his fancy that went on the page, until it wasn't.

* * *

 _Run, Sammy, monsters,_

 _Rough hands and a leather jacket_

 _Broken promises and whispered words_

 _"Take care of Sammy"_

 _I always do_

 _I've tended almost every cut, bruise, and illness_

 _Since he was six months old_

 _And you tell me to take care of him?_

 _It should be the other way around_

 _With how you off and leave us_

 _It's not like I'm more parental than you_

 _Or I know less than you_

 _How precious Sammy is_

 _You told me to_

 _"Take Sammy and run!"_

 _And I did_

 _I've never looked back_

 _Not for monsters, ghosts, or even you_

 _So my priorities are straight_

 _Nothing comes before Sam._

 _But the hunt is all_

 _That consumes your mind._

* * *

Dean looked at the paper in horror. _Where did that come from?_ He wondered. He pushed the poem away before he could reread it and ask if he really felt that way about his own father. He decided to write another one to take his mind off of it.

He kind of liked the rush that came with writing, and a small part of him was relishing the fact that he could express whatever opinion he desired through it.

* * *

 _Coldhearted metal_

 _Guns glint under the sun's rays_

 _We are Winchesters_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _A birth of fire_

 _Still phantoms all of my thoughts_

 _Like a poltergeist_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _Take Sammy and run!_

 _But mom's on the ceiling and_

 _Flames blaze from above_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _That day created_

 _A family with no roots_

 _A life on the road_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _This life isn't right_

 _It's full of falsities but_

 _It's to keep him safe_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _It's been much too long_

 _Since I last saw my father_

 _But Sammy needs food_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _I do what I can_

 _To keep him safe from all this_

 _I try so damn hard_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _My little Sammy_

 _He wasn't supposed to know_

 _Why did I tell him?_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _A humorless laugh_

 _This smile is pasted on_

 _Only to mislead_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _I've taken on all_

 _The roles as parent, father,_

 _And mother to him_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _I hunt the monsters_

 _But who's gonna help when the_

 _Monster's one of us?_

* * *

Dean looked down at the last haiku, ruminating about what it could mean. _Who is the monster?_ He thought. Then it became another poem on the page before him.

* * *

 _Who is the monster?_

 _Is it the phantom under the child's bed_

 _Or the parent who promised it wasn't real?_

 _When the time comes and the night falls_

 _The child screams_

 _And the parent who said the monster was_

 _Fantasy_

 _Is pulled into the reality_

 _That monsters are real_

 _And the child that was so precious and loved_

 _Is gutted and gone and dead._

* * *

Dean realized that his poetry was quite dark, but that was practically a given, seeing what kind of life he lead. He also realized that turning in a super dark poem would probably result in a one-way ticket to the principal's or counselor's office, which was something he definitely didn't want, so he had to write a lighter one to turn in to Ms. Simmons. He sighed before returning his pen to a new piece of paper.

* * *

 _In my life_

 _There are three constants:_

 _Take care of Sammy_

 _Keep on moving_

 _Expect the unexpected_

 _With our demons chasing us_

 _As we chase them in a game_

 _Of cat and mouse_

 _Circuitous, never ending_

 _They are all I have to hold on to_

 _My three constants get me through_

 _When it's hard, I remember them and everything is better_

 _Because even if life goes to hell_

 _My three constants_

 _Stay the same_

* * *

Well, he didn't say that it was going to be a romance poem. Lighter just meant "slightly less dark." He'd just say it was metaphorical or some shit. Good enough. Dean looked back at Sammy again before taking the extra slips of paper and tucking them into a blue school folder that was empty. Then, he shoved it into the bottom of his duffle bag before switching off the light and crawling into bed.

"G'night Sammy," he whispered before closing his eyes and letting the darkness encase him, his hand around the knife under his pillow.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure how to feel. They were getting their poems back today from Ms. Simmons, and he prayed that she didn't read into his poem too much, and that she liked it.

As it had become usual to see Dean in class early, he sat and waited nervously as the clock inched by and more students flooded in. When the bell rang, Ms. Simmons stood at the front of the classroom, holding a stack of papers.

 _That's probably our poems!_

"Alright class, I'm going to hand back your poems today. I have to say, I'm proud the work you've put forth! Many of you wrote thoughtful and clever poems. I wrote some commentary on them as well, so when I call your name, come up and get your poem."

Dean shifted in his seat, waiting as she read off name by name until he heard "Dean Winchester" and rocketed to the front of the room, where he snatched the poem he'd titled "Three Constants" and went back to his seat.

 _Dean_ , Ms. Simmons' handwriting read, _I really like what you've written here. I like how the narrator is focusing on the three things that keep them alive, keep them human almost. The imagery of the demons chasing and being chased like cat and mouse is also very powerful. This is fantastic work Dean. My offer still stands, if you have more work! 15/15_

"I got an A," he whispered quietly to himself in shock.

Dean looked at the paper again, a thought catching in his brain. _I'm good at this. I am actually good at this._

Suddenly, he couldn't wait until the bell rung and he could go home and write and write and write.

* * *

 _Talking's okay I guess_

 _But it all comes out wrong so easily and_

 _Inevitably like an ice cube outside the freezer_

 _You'll end up hurting or being hurt_

 _But with writing,_

 _Everything's different_

 _There's a process of thinking then writing then editing_

 _You can take out all the bad parts_

 _And be left with only what won't_

 _Scar or tear or weaken_

* * *

Dad came home the next day, though, and he didn't even have time to swing by Ms. Simmons' classroom to tell her thanks. Dean Winchester hated chick flick moments, but he was kind of sad he missed this one.


	2. Ninth Grade English

A/N: Hello, me again! Here's the next two installments to this mini-series (as they're both quite short) I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Fiona Withers was surprised. The new kid in her ninth grade class, Dean Winchester, looked like a complete slacker. He always walked into class five minutes late, flirted with the girls nonstop, and wore that terrible leather jacket that was too big.

However, reading his creative writing assignment changed her mind about the boy.

It was fluid, well-written, and thoughtful. It was dark, about a man who hunted monsters until he became one, but it was so compelling. The words illustrated this man who tried so hard to do the right thing but just couldn't succeed. It was full of feeling, sorrow and loss. And she was left thinking that it could happen to anyone, maybe it could even happen to her. She had cried reading that story, and after, she vowed to give any child that came into her class the benefit of the doubt.

Dean continued to turn in polished writing assignments through his time in her class, surprising her with his thoughtfulness and literary analysis of the books they read.

He was still a little shit during class, and displayed that devil-may-care attitude of his, but she knew that there was much more to Dean Winchester than what met the eye.

Her theory was proven correct when she got a call from the sixth grade classroom.

Mr. Jones didn't really call her classroom ever, so when she picked up the phone, she was quite confused.

"Mr. Jones, hello. This is Mrs. Wither's classroom."

"Mrs. Withers, yes. Is Dean Winchester there?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in shock. "Yes, he is. Why, what's going on?"

"I have his little brother, Sam, in my class. Sam's a brilliant kid, but he seems to have a little bit of trouble with bullies in class. I didn't think anything serious was going on, but I found him pretty beat up at the end of recess today. He's at the nurse's and he's been asking for Dean. Can you send him over for a bit?" Mrs. Withers gasped at the news.

"Yes, of course, I'll escort Dean over right away. Thankfully, we're in the middle of lunch. I'll be right over, Mr. Jones. Goodbye." She hung up the phone quickly before making her way outside.

Dean usually hung out with a few other kids at the center table in the bunch that belonged the the freshmen. She made her way over quickly and called out, "Dean? Could you come here, please?"

He scrambled over to her, a weary look in his eyes. "What is it, Mrs. Withers?"

She looked at him very seriously and told him, "Your brother Sam was hurt by some bullies, and he's been asking for you. I want to bring you to him, is that okay?"

The words "Your brother Sam" had him snap to attention, and "bullies" and him clenching his jaw and fists at his sides.

"Is he alright?" He demanded an answer, his eyes flashing in anger at what had been done to his brother.

"I'm sure, dear, but let's go see. Come with me now."

The walk was over quickly, and soon Dean was all up in the nurse's beeswax, asking her about Sam and how hurt he was before going to his brother in question and examining the boy himself.

"Now, now Sammy. You listen real good, 'cuz I'm going to tell you a story," he declared after his once over was complete and he figured Sam would be alright.

Mrs. Withers normally would have taken Dean back by now, but she saw how relaxed both of the boys looked and she was a little bit curious about the story Dean was going to tell his younger brother.

"Can you tell me more about the dragon?" Sam asked shyly.

"Of course, dude! So, the dragon named Willem had deep, rich golden-green scales. If you'll remember, Sammy, he was the son of the most powerful dragon at the time, King Astrid. Willem had all he wanted, and the other dragons couldn't wait to see the color of his flames. Tell me what the color flames mean, Sammy."

Mrs. Withers was spellbound by Dean's easy demeanor with his brother, the way he got Sam enraptured in the story and thinking of things other than the pain. He would ask Sam questions, and they were obviously familiar with this storyline, for Sam knew the answers to almost every question that crossed his path.

Soon, the two were smiling and laughing, and Mrs. Withers wished she had a camera to capture the moment.

* * *

When the Winchester boys left a month or so later, Mrs. Withers felt sadness creep into her heart. She'd grown attached to the boy with the gentle heart and fantastic writing who cared for his little brother despite looking like a delinquent.

His story about the man turned monster was one she kept for many, many years in the small filing cabinet she put particularly fantastic student's work in.

It was the one she took out the most of all the papers in the cabinet.


	3. Eleventh Grade English

Dean knew the rules. He wasn't supposed to attract attention to himself, and for plenty of reasons. He knew that.

But in eleventh grade english class, he was not gonna let Mr. Terry have the upper hand. No, sir.

The guy was a dick. Everyone hated his ass because he obviously played favorites and refused to give anyone else a grade higher than a B+.

Well, Dean was going to have to make the dude give him an A.

It was a poetry unit. Dean's blue folder that lived in the bottom of his duffle bag was stuffed full of papers written on by his own hand, covered in different types of poems, although most of them were free verse, as it was his favorite type.

Luckily for Dean, they could write any kind of poem for the class. He grinned wickedly from the back of the classroom as he began to think which one he'd select, or if he'd write a new one.

When the bell rung, he made his way down the hall and knew that he would do all it took to come out on top.

* * *

" _Winchester," I say,_

" _Like the gun." It's dangerous_

 _And lethal like me._

-O-o-O-

 _I slice and I dice,_

 _Monsters around me shudder._

 _But I don't ever stop._

-O-o-O-

 _This is the life that_

 _I've been running away from._

 _I'll never get out._

-O-o-O-

 _There's always someone_

 _That needs saving; I'm the one_

 _Who has to step up._

-O-o-O-

 _Nobody will die_

 _On my watch, except me. Wait!_

 _I'm dead already._

-O-o-O-

 _I'm not living. This_

 _Life is comprised of horror._

 _The hands that shoot, shake._

-O-o-O-

 _I don't feel. How did_

 _This happen? I parallel_

 _The monsters I kill._

-O-o-O-

 _I wanted out. I'm_

 _Already dead. When the gun_

 _Shoots, I will be free._

* * *

It was called "Saving People, Hunting Things."

Dean got an A.

* * *

Dad came home a week later, and they left. But Dean gifted Mr. Terry a note on his desk on the last day of school he attended there.

* * *

 _Why, hello there, Mister Terry_

 _I'll say that I am quite merry_

 _I'm away from your ass_

 _And your shitty ass class_

 _No more verbal strike or parry._

 _\- Dean Winchester_

* * *

He laughed for at least five minutes while Sammy looked at him weird, but he didn't care. He found it quite ironic that he dissed his English teacher in limerick format, and that poem was pure gold.

It was one of the few poems he'd written that made him laugh, but that was another story altogether.


	4. Cassie's Place

A/N: Hello yet again! It's time for another update to this mini-series! I think I'm having way too much fun with Writer!Dean.

Also, Rogue8496- Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you like what I've done so far, and that you could identify with the poem in the first chapter. I hope you continue to enjoy this series! :)

Anyway, happy reading, and as always have a lovely rest of your day!

* * *

Cassie was a journalist. She knew writing like a childhood friend, familiar and there to lean on in any circumstance.

What she didn't know, was that Dean had a friend similar to her own.

* * *

She woke up one Saturday morning, the sun warm on her face. She turned over, expecting to see Dean there like he usually was, but the bed was empty.

She sighed, but then saw a note on his pillow. She picked it up curiously, then scanned over the words written on it.

* * *

 _Good morning Cassie,_

 _I'm sorry I left early._

 _Be home for dinner!_

 _Love, Dean_

* * *

She looked at it curiously, the line breaks not making complete sense to her, and the lack of punctuation on the last line was like Dean, but she knew he normally tacked on the subject for her benefit.

She read the note again, slowly. She sounded out each word before it hit her. Five-seven-five. Dean wrote her a haiku.

 _Maybe it was an accident?_ The thought was dismissed from her mind as soon as it entered. Dean Winchester wasn't the type of person to let anything happen coincidentally. He'd probably snark that it all had a purpose, and that was to screw him over, or something equally stupid.

 _Maybe,_ somehow this thought was more shocking that the first, _it_ wasn't _an accident. Maybe Dean's a poet._

She almost laughed aloud at that thought, but now she was curious. If he'd written her an inconspicuous haiku, then maybe he was just secretive about writing poetry.

Cassie hopped out of bed, now on a mission. She had to know if it was a coincidence.

Dean had moved into her place a little while back, after much persuasion. Most of his stuff had been placed into drawers, but he kept a few items in his worn old duffle he kept in the bottom left drawer of the dresser.

He thought she didn't know, but she was a lot more observant than she looked. And normally, she would have left it alone, content to let Dean keep his secrets. This time, however, was different.

She opened the drawer quickly, revealing the old bag. She unzipped it to reveal an old, worn blue folder, papers sticking out of it in every which direction. The thing looked battered and faded, and on the front there was "Dean Winchester" written on it in a child's handwriting, but it was still unmistakably Dean's lettering.

She lifted the folder out of his bag and opened it. Words upon words assaulted her vision, written in all shades of pen on all kinds of paper. Binder paper, wide ruled, college ruled, graph paper, receipts, motel and hotel notepads, post-its, name it and it was there.

It was poems. Unmistakably, these were poems. She read one titled "Lost."

* * *

 _I'm just weary and waning and tired and breathless;_

 _mentally drained but I have to push on._

 _I feel sort of lost,_

 _but I cannot be found_

 _because at this point I am by myself,_

 _and my trials are for me alone._

 _The desert is vast_

 _and I am isolated-_

 _one speck of color_

 _Among the sandy monotone._

 _I don't know if I can go on,_

 _but I have to push_

 _because the other side is near;_

 _beyond the horizon, but nearer every step._

 _A place of lush greens_

 _and abstract color,_

 _a place of beauty and music and sound._

 _A place where I can live in peace,_

 _at last, a place that nurtures me._

 _But for now I am weary and wanting and breathless,_

 _alone in the desert_

 _relying on only myself_

 _to make it out alive._

* * *

The words caressed her, making her stop and think. Was this poem a metaphor, or did Dean actually feel this way about his life? Maybe his place he could live in peace was with her?

She found so many more questions arising, even though she'd found a response the one she originally came to answer.

She found herself looking at poem after poem, their themes staying in the darker range. Lots of them talked about monsters, demons, someone named Sammy, and a father who was distant and unkind.

Cassie read around thirty of them before she realized that she'd uncovered and dug into Dean's biggest secret without his permission. She hastily shoved all the papers back into the faded blue folder before placing it back in Dean's duffle and the bottom left drawer.

She was left kind of sad and guilty. She should have let Dean tell her himself.

* * *

Two weeks later, when he told her he hunted monsters, she laughed and told him he was crazy. A small part of her remembered his poems, haunting and taunting with their mentions of monsters becoming more than a little conspicuous.

She swallowed down her fear at the thought and told him to leave if he was just going to lie to her.

He drove away in that '67 Impala, and she could hear Metallica ringing in her ears for days afterward.

* * *

Two weeks later, she opened the drawer on the bottom left of the dresser. There was a post-it crumpled into the drawer's corner.

* * *

 _Cassie_

 _You make me warm_

 _With you, it's all okay_

 _No monsters, just happiness and_

 _Smiles_

* * *

She cried like a baby, and questioned for the second time if Dean Winchester was more than he looked like he was.


	5. Motel Decisions

A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me longer than usual to get this up... it has been a hectic time! Anyway, enough about me, happy reading and have a lovely rest of your day!

* * *

Dean needed money. Sammy was long gone, Dad was God-knows-where, and hustling pool wasn't gonna cut it for much longer.

For a moment, Dean found himself wishing he could stay in one place, have a stable job, maybe get a steady girlfriend or something. But he pushed the thought away, knowing that hunting was all he'd ever do.

He sighed and went over to his bag to get out some clothes until he saw his blue folder staring at him. He pulled it out, opened it up, and looked at the many sheets of paper crammed inside it, a sense of nostalgia washing over him.

He smiled sadly. He hadn't written in awhile, not since Cassie, and even then it was only a few small ones since Sammy left for Stanford.

 _Maybe I should write,_ he thought. He went over to the motel desk, looking for those pads of paper they always had around with the motel's insignia on them.

He picked up the pen, uncapped it, and tapped it on the pad a few times.

" _I,"_ he wrote.

Dean sighed, he didn't _know_ what to write. Maybe it had just been a while, but he felt like he didn't know how to write anymore, and that was a sad revelation.

Writing had always been a part of Dean, ever since that day in seventh grade when Ms. Simmons started her poetry unit. It was why he still had this folder at twenty-four, the same blue one that had the faded "Dean Winchester" across the bottom right in his own childish handwriting.

Still bathing in that sense of longing, he pulled out the very first poem he'd written that night in the hotel after Sammy went to sleep.

Dean read it, the memories hitting him in the chest like a ghost slammed him into a wall. It was his job to take care of his brother, and he'd failed. Now Sam was at Stanford and he was here, looking for another hunt in the middle of nowhere.

He put the poem back in the folder where it belonged, but then saw the last poem he'd written.

* * *

 _I am the unwanted mediator_

 _I stand in the middle of a warzone_

 _And try to keep the peace_

 _Pulled toward both sides until_

 _Boom!_

 _I implode upon myself_

 _I am the bomb that causes more harm_

 _Instead of being the mediator_

 _I am the one who never chooses_

 _Never backs anyone up_

 _I am not trustworthy_

 _Both sides hate me_

 _What happened to the peacekeeper?_

 _What happened to the peace?_

 _Once we were happy_

 _Once I was content_

 _Now I just sit on the edge of this warzone_

 _Lying in wait for another attack_

* * *

Failure. Failure. Failure.

It haunted him, made him throw down the poem and grip as much of the short, spiky hair that he could. He would never be enough, would always be stuck in a battleground, no matter if it was the one between Dad and Sammy or him and a monster. And eventually, there'd come a day where he'd fail. The monster would win.

Either he would be killed, or kill himself.

The thought wasn't new, but it still hurt knowing and anticipating his death everyday. He took one deep breath wallowing in the darkness before letting the feelings slide off him like oil, simultaneously releasing the grip he had on his hair.

Feeling marginally better, he glanced at the motel paper pad, the single stroke on the paper taunting him.

 _Because that's going to make you money_ , his brain invaded sarcastically.

The blue folder sat in front of him, dangling images in his mind. _Actually,_ _maybe I_ can _…_

Feeling the determination that made him a Winchester rise up, Dean searched his mind for all the information he had to prove his point.

Ms. Simmons told him he was good. Mrs. Withers always gave him notes of approval. Hell, he got that one dick in junior year to give him an A! Maybe he could do more than hunt. Maybe he could _write._

The blue folder was waiting, challenging him.

Accepting the challenge, Dean reached for the poems he'd spent hours of his life upon and started to read.

* * *

Before he knew it, it was two A.M. and Dean had sorted his poems into three piles: good, needs editing, and no way. The piles were about even, and the now empty folder sat to the side looking more worn than it ever had.

Dean pulled up the laptop he'd bought after Sam left to make research easier. Then, feeling as if he had a purpose for the first time in months, he started typing.

* * *

A/N: I know, another note. I'm sorry! I just wanted to clarify that the line "Either he would be killed, or kill himself" doesn't imply that Dean is suicidal. What I meant it to convey was that he would be killed or be the one to kill someone when it was unjustified, therefore making him the monster. And, as we know, poor Dean has issues about crossing that boundary. I hope that clears things up!

Also:

Rogue8496 - I read some of your poems, and I enjoyed them very much! I am also flattered that you keep enjoying this story and my poetry especially. I'm just an amateur poet myself (like Dean in the story I've had classes around it but it just come naturally to me, I suppose), and I hope to keep improving as I go along. I really, really appreciate your feedback!


	6. Bobby's House

A/N: Hey, I'm back with more! Sorry guys, but there isn't any poetry in this one, but I think it's quite an important chapter! *trumpets sound* INTRODUCING BOBBY SINGER!

Also it's the second longest chapter in the series so far!

So... yeah. Happy reading and have a lovely rest of your day! (comment responses at the end this time)

* * *

Bobby Singer loved the Winchester boys. He'd watched them grow up at his house with how often their daddy would leave them there, and it was eventually what got him into such a fight with John Winchester that he told him not to come back.

Now, those boys of his had done nothing wrong, so he kept in contact with Dean just in case the boy needed anything. They'd maintained a good relationship through scattered phone calls and visits ranging from a couple times a month to once every few months.

But that didn't mean Bobby wasn't surprised to find Dean on his porch one morning, smiling wide as he did that day they played catch in the park.

"Dean! What are you doing here? What do you need?" Bobby let Dean in right away, as he assumed Dean needed help with something. The boy wasn't one to just drop in and say hello.

Dean swept through the living room and went straight to the kitchen. "Just wanted to ask you of a favor, Bobby. Nothing big."

Now, Bobby was still a little suspicious of what was going on, so he sat down on the couch and waited for Dean to come and explain more. Dean did exactly that,erging from the kitchen with two beer bottles in his hands, setting one down in front Bobby and taking the other for himself as he sat down.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "So, you gonna tell me what this favor is, or keep me waitin' here all day? Idjit."

Now Dean did look a little nervous, which was a bad thing, for the boy never showed any emotions if he could help it. Bobby hoped with all his might that Dean didn't do something incredibly stupid that he would have to fix.

"Well, you see, I kinda got a job." Dean's eyes flicked up from his lap to meet Bobby's, gauging his reaction.

"Okay. What are we hunting?" Bobby prompted when Dean didn't elaborate.

"It's not a hunting job. It's, well, just know that I can do it from anywhere and they send me money. And that's why I'm here. I need an address for my paychecks to come to. I was wondering if you'd be okay with me writing down yours."

Bobby looked at Dean in amazement. He never thought the boy had it in him, this seemed more like something his brother would try to pull off.

"Does your daddy know?" He couldn't help but ask.

Dean shook his head. "No. And I'm not going to tell him either. I'd appreciate if you held this in confidence, even if you don't let me use your address."

Well, Bobby expected that much. John Winchester would have a right fit if he knew Dean was doing anything other than hunting. He'd lost Sam, and he wouldn't lose Dean.

Bobby, on the other hand, was willing to take the step that John Winchester wasn't. Dean still looked slightly timid, his head tilted a little, mouth quirked down just the tiniest bit, and his eyes had that mix of fear and hope in them. You wouldn't see it if you weren't finely attuned to Dean, but Bobby could tell that this mattered to him. So, he decided he would help.

"Why wouldn't I let you use my address? I just hope you'll stop by more often then, I don't wanna waste my precious stamps on your ass sendin' letters all around America."

Immediately, Dean's posture changed, and his face softened into the look he only gave those he trusted, his mouth curving into a small little smile and his eyes twinkling in gratefulness.

"Thanks Bobby. Means a lot."

Bobby nodded before hesitantly asking, "Dean. I hope this job of yours is at least somewhat legal. You don't want authorities all over you."

"It's legal." He gave a small chuckle. "Wow, here's the day I never thought would come. I, Dean Winchester, have a real white-picket-fence, apple pie job."

Bobby raised his beer. "Let's toast to that, 'cause I didn't see it comin' either!"

* * *

It was about a month later that Bobby got the first check. Dean hadn't been around since, and Bobby was trying not to think too much about what his job was.

Didn't mean he succeeded, though.

His brain came up with theories, some ridiculous and some logical. (At some point, he'd made a list, and had a small section of ones just there to make him laugh.)

Even though he did all that, he didn't need to know more. Dean was trustworthy enough, and he wouldn't appreciate Bobby digging around in his stuff. He'd come tell Bobby when he was ready.

That all came to an abrupt halt when the first check came.

Bobby was sorting through his mail when he saw an envelope addressed to "Mr. Dean Campbell." Curiously, he looked at the name before it hit him.

 _This is Dean's first paycheck._

His eyes flitted over the envelope before resting on the logo next to the return address.

Cambron Publishing Co LLC. Cambron _Publishing Co_ LLC.

He needed to call Dean. _Now_.

The phone rang and rang, and nobody picked up. It was understandable, Dean was probably working a case, but Bobby left a short message saying, "Your check is here. Come and get it."

He took a deep breath. It only took an idiot five seconds to figure out that seeing a check from a publishing company meant that Dean wrote a book.

Bobby made up his mind, then he drove into town to go book shopping.

* * *

Bobby acquiesced that going to buy Dean's book behind his back was a dick move. However, that wasn't going to stop him. All he wanted to know was if Dean wrote about hunting or not, because he couldn't just sell that to civilians! He wouldn't read it all, just enough to know if Dean was making the right decisions.

Objectively, Bobby knew that Dean wrote. Everyone did, whether it was for a school assignment, grocery list, research, or making a list of people's possible secret careers. Bobby just didn't know the extent to which Dean wrote.

Apparently it was enough to have him publish some sort of book.

He went straight into the bookstore and encountered an employee. Most of the time he'd find books on his own, but he wasn't sure what category Dean's book would fall into.

"Hello. May I help you?" The librarian asked.

Bobby smiled at her distractedly. "Yes, actually. I was wondering if you had any books by someone named Dean Campbell."

"Hmm, let me check. We have so many books and authors that I can't place that name right now. Follow me, I'll look it up."

They made their way over to the computer, and she typed some things into it while Bobby scanned his surroundings.

"Aha!" She cried about five minutes later. "Sorry, sir, but we don't have _Mary's Gold_ on hand. That's the book you were looking for, right? The new release by Dean Campbell?"

Bobby nodded.

"Well, good news, a story only about thirty minutes from here has some copies, if you are willing to pick one up."

"Sure. Can you have them hold one for me?"

Soon enough, Bobby was on his way to the second bookstore, this one not in Sioux Falls.

 _Oh Dean,_ he thought, _he named the book_ Mary's Gold _after his mother._ It was such a _Dean_ thing to do that it made Bobby smile wistfully. He wondered if Sam knew about Dean's book before pushing the thought away, knowing Sam left to go to school. _He probably has no idea, just like I didn't._

He again found himself musing the topic of the book, which occupied his mind enough until he arrived at the store.

He went straight up to the desk, and announced, "The name's Singer. I had another librarian place Mary's _Gold_ by Dean Campbell on hold for me." He plonked the receipt down on the desk. "Here's this if you need it."

The manager said nothing, only rolled their eyes and reached under the counter to grab a bag. "That's it. Your total's eight dollars and forty-five cents."

Bobby tossed a ten at them before snatching the bag.

"Keep the change!" He called over his shoulder.

On the way back, he contemplated again if this was the best idea. Dean certainly wouldn't react well to finding out he'd read the book without permission.

 _Damn it!_ He was supposed to be logical. Of course Dean would be mad! He'd trusted Bobby, he would not be so fast to trust him with something like this again if he found out.

Bobby glanced at the bag in the passenger's seat, innocuous and small.

He sighed, then realized he'd just have to wait for Dean to come. He'd coax the answer out of the boy then, and he could get permission to read the damn book.

He just had to wait.

* * *

A/N: Just so you know I Googled poetry publishing companies so the one I used was actually real. I also looked up South Dakota sales tax so I could compute it for a $7.99 book (I spent like ten minutes doing that. Why, I don't know).

Tempermental18 - Thank you so much for your encouragement! I really hope you like this installment too :)


	7. Someone Finds Out

A/N: I know. It's been FOREVER. Well, okay, At least I didn't wait like a year or something before coming back to this story. It wasn't even a month! But you know, the holidays are always busy (and my birthday was earlier this month before Thanksgiving, so I had family in town then too). So I'm justified! But then I reread all your comments and felt quite inspired to write.

*Author inserts large sign that says "I LOVE IT WHEN YOU COMMENT IT MAKES MY DAY" and waves it around un-subtly*

Anyway! Enough excuses. Let's get reading! I hope you enjoy this and the rest of your day! :)

* * *

Dean felt satisfaction rise over him as he left another town behind him in the dust, along with a completed case. It had been a while since everything had worked out as nicely as it did this time around.

Since the highway was in no way unfamiliar to Dean, he took out his cellphone and called his voicemail while he drove along.

Surprisingly, there was one from his father. "Dean. I heard you've been doin' real well on some hunts recently. Accidentally went to one you'd already taken care of." Dean heard John's chuckle. "Stay on top of it. I'll send you something if I see it."

Dean felt oddly pleased at this, though he was confused at the fact that his father showed up at a job he'd already finished.

 _Maybe he was just a day behind me, or he thought he'd tie up loose ends?_

Before Dean could ruminate any longer, another message took his attention.

"Your check is here. Come and get it." Bobby sounded a little excited but also frustrated.

Dean smiled. _My_ check _!_ The thought was a welcome one, and only improved his mood after this finished case.

Quickly, he made sure he was going toward Bobby's house before throwing the phone to the side and turning the radio on loudly. As he cruised across the country, the sounds of Metallica's _Ride the Lightning_ boosted his spirits and his speed.

 _I'm looking forward to this._

* * *

Upon his arrival at Bobby's door, Dean hesitated before going in. Most of the time, he'd barge in with whatever he needed, but this time he was a little unsure.

Right as he raised his hand to knock, Bobby opened the door.

"Quit lookin' like a girl tryin' to knock on her prom date's door, boy, and come in!"

His comment made Dean smile and his nerves eased as he walked his way past Bobby into the familiar house. He made his way over to the oddly spotless table in the living room to see the one item placed on it.

 _Mr. Dean Campbell_ was written on the front of the envelope in black ink. He slowly reached own to grab it, but was interrupted by Bobby.

"So, when were you plannin' on tellin' me you wrote a book, huh?"

Dean practically got whiplash with how fast he turned to look at Bobby. "What?" His voice was low, intense. "Bobby, how -"

Bobby sounded slightly amused. "If you'll take a look at the envelope, it says something about a publishing company. It doesn't take a genius from there."

Dean opened his mouth to respond angrily, but Bobby beat him to it.

"No, Dean, don't worry. I didn't read it. At least, not yet."

Bobby gave Dean that look, the one that said 'you're fragile like glass Dean, and I'm afraid to break you.' He continued, "I know you named it after you mother."

Dean gave off a little laugh, taking on the tone of voice which meant he was put out but covered it with sarcasm. "Yeah Bobby, thanks for noticing. I really-"

"Enough with your crap Dean! Can't you see that I'm not mad? That I'm not accusing you of anything? Don't get snippy with me. I just wanted to know if you'd let me read it. That's all. We don't even have to talk about it when I'm done."

Dean felt himself relaxing marginally, but the thought of anyone else reading his poetry made him shiver with disgust. They'd think he was weak, that he hated the world, that he was a stupid, emo kid. And sure, Dean was okay with strangers thinking that, because they could think whatever they wanted. They didn't know him.

But Bobby knew the truth. These poems would actually mean something to Bobby, with all their mentions of the supernatural and Sammy and that resentment toward Dad that he never let see the light.

"No, Bobby. I can't let you read it, you'll think-"

"Idjit." Bobby's tone was soft. It was one that often came with the word "idjit," like he thought Dean was an idiot but was telling him with affection. "I've known you since you were six, Dean. I know you pretty damn well, and I don't think a book of poetry is going to change my damn opinion of you."

 _It would be so easy to just…_ Dean wanted, so badly, to let Bobby read the book. If only he knew how Bobby would react.

"I don't mean half the shit I write," he heard himself saying. "It just comes out by itself. Don't think I'm serious when I-" He fiddled with his hands, looking down at them before continuing. "I'm not serious when I'm talking about hunting or Dad all the time," he got out before brushing past Bobby to head up the stairs.

When he was at the top of them, he yelled, his heart heavy but his mind hopeful, "Holler when you're done. But just so you know, I don't want to talk about this. Ever."

He heard shuffling before Bobby's voice drifted up the stairs, thick with sarcasm. "Of course, my despot Dean! Your word is law, after all!"

He cracked a small smile and just shook his head before heading into the bedroom that was considered his and Sammy's (Well, just his now).

To shake himself out of it, he pulled a small book out of his bag he'd been carrying. If Bobby was going to read his book, he might as well do it too, to pass the time.

It reminded him of how the book came to be…

* * *

 _Dean sat in front of Ms. Hazel Rider as she smiled at him widely._

 _"Hello Dean. It's great to finally meet you in person!" She shook his hand wildly. She gestured for him to sit down while she continued on, "I love your collection. So. Much. It's the perfect amount of feelings and angst and mentions of the occult… I love that piece about reality and things that go bump in the night." She shivered a little bit. "It was enthralling."_

 _Dean wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that, but he nodded and smiled anyway, keeping his patented Winchester Lady Charm™ on full blast. If he blew it, this editor lady could cast off his book and he'd be nowhere. Again._

 _"Yeah, I tried to incorporate it all the best I could. I'm glad you enjoyed it."_

 _She looked pleased enough with his response, and continued on. "There's just a few things I want to work on, like how the poems are presented, their order, yanno, that kind of thing. It's small. Here's the edits I'd like you to make on the poems, too." She slid a document over the desk. "It's not too much, just some wording issues and suggestions that you don't necessarily have to take but there there in case you want them."_

 _He nodded. "So, are we in business?"_

 _She slapped down a huge ass contract. "Sign on the dotted line right here, Mr. Campbell, and you have a two book contract with our folks here at Cambron!"_

 _The decision was easy- he'd get money and another book deal. He was in._

 _In no time at all, he smooth talked her into getting a coffee (What? The woman was attractive, and Dean wasn't going to turn down an opportunity when he saw one), leaving behind a contract to shape his future and a signature, suave as the rest of him reading "Dean Campbell."_

* * *

Dean smiled at the memory before opening the book to the first poem on the page, and he began to read the words he already knew by heart.

* * *

 _Life is not a fairy tale_

 _In fact, I've heard it's just a grand illusion_

 _Because, "deep inside, we're all the same"_

 _But am I really the same as_

 _The psychos, the killers, the weirdos?_

 _Are they really the same as me?_

 _I_ am _different from the monsters-_

 _I have to be_

 _If I was like them I would've stopped this long ago_

 _Now I know I'm not a hero_

 _But if this is all just_

 _A grand illusion_

 _I'd rather it be an illusion of_

 _Outward appearance to inner value_

 _Rather than shapes on a plain field of sameness_

* * *

There were more lines, added in pencil to Dean's copy and his alone that he read out loud into the quiet room. "But then again, if this is an illusion; I am nothing, you are nothing, and my work means nothing." He closed his eyes, the words coming from memory. "We are dust in the wind of time. Sparkling like a fairy tale, but in reality; a grand illusion."

The copy of _Mary's Gold_ fell to the side and Dean tried to fall asleep, lost within the whirlwind of words in his head.

When he eventually achieved this goal, the book was left to flop open to the dedication inscribed in the book.

* * *

To Mom _,_ don't be afraid… To keep kickin' ass in Heaven. Things aren't the same without you.

* * *

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Now I have a lil bit of a dilemma- should I write Bobby reading the book with poems? Or Bobby's reaction at the end? Or skip Bobby and stay with Dean for after Bobby finishes the book? Let me know what you think would be best!

Now... on to the comment replies:

Irreality- Yay yay yay! I'm glad you like it! I'm happy to be giving Dean an outlet to all his angst. We all know he secretly enjoys those "chick flick moments" he claims to hate. I mean, this is a guy who watches Dr. Sexy. Come on. And as for Bobby, well, I would have opened that book up too! Thankfully we'll get to see some of it coming up real soon!

Tempermental18- Firstly, comments make me want to write and make me unbelievably happy, so replying is the least I can do! Secondly, thank you for saying I wrote Bobby well! I wasn't sure if he was fully in character, but my keyboard seemed to be dishing out words alright, so I left it. As for the research, I just like for all the small details to be good. I dunno, accuracy makes me happy, I guess. And I'm sorry for the wait! Hope this chappie made up for it :)

Kathy- Thank you for your review! I'm really glad you liked the chapter, and I know this update wasn't very soon or prompt but… I hope this installment makes up for the wait time!

Rogue8496- Ah! Glad to see you like my characterization of Bobby, I wasn't sure if he was coming across one hundred percent the way I wanted him to, but your reassurance means the world. I hope it stays consistent within this chapter too. Hope you liked this chappie!


	8. The Reading

A/N: I'm back! Y'all left such NICE freakin' REVIEWS that I had to write to express my happiness, which was hard, seeing as this chapter is quite sad/dark/not happy. Anyway, here it is! It's back to Bobby, and I'm going to do Dean next chapter. And finally! Y'all get _three whole poems_ this time around. Let's hope my quality hasn't gone down... :) Kidding. They're good, I think.

Anyway, I know you don't actually want to read my rambles... So on to the story!

* * *

Bobby had read lots of books in his time. Books on lore, textbooks, website pages, scripts, sacred texts, a few trashy romance novels, some poetry (especially when he learned Japanese) and other miscellaneous ones.

But none were exactly like his experience reading _Mary's Gold._

As he first read, it was slow, in order to comprehend all of Dean's words, but he quickly sped up, his eyes tearing over each page, sinking into the knowledge he'd never had. But then he slowed again as the words continued to hit him, their themes turning darker as the words ripped down all of the barriers around the darkest parts of Dean's mind. Bobby wouldn't think any of it was truth if he only knew Dean on the surface.

Dean didn't talk. When something was bothering him, he didn't speak to anyone about what was going on, only kept it inside himself until he had a small burst of emotion that would be his only form of expression.

However, this book said everything that Dean never did. His morality, the sins of his father, his doubts, his hunger, the pain he felt over the loss of a good life for his brother and the pain of losing the boy he practically raised to college were all written out in detail within the confines of the little book. All of Dean's struggles were laid out so openly that Bobby could barely believe it.

He understood why Dean didn't want him to read it. It was like handing a loaded gun to an enemy and asking them, _trusting them,_ not to shoot.

 _If I were Dean I would have said no,_ Bobby mused.

Quickly, he remembered Dean mumbling about not meaning anything he wrote before retreating upstairs. His mood sank, because it obviously wasn't true. The poetry was full of feeling. If Bobby was being honest, it made him a little relieved. He'd worried about Dean bottling everything up before, but this was at least a healthy outlet for it all.

He looked back down at the book in front of him, deciding to read on.

* * *

 _I'm just so tired_

 _I want this to stop right now_

 _Can I lay down, dead?_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _What's motivation_

 _In this world where no tasks are_

 _Worthwhile of my time?_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _I'm just ready to_

 _Give it all up, sometimes I_

 _Almost don't come back_

 _-O-o-O-_

 _But I do come back_

 _Every time, never for me_

 _Only for Sammy_

* * *

He wanted to slap Dean upside the head, slap Sam upside the head, shed a couple tears, yell at John Winchester, and ask the world why it did things the way it did. Then follow it up with about seven drinks- this was an occasion that called for the good stuff, too. Dean didn't _deserve_ to feel as tired as someone three times his age. He shouldn't be thinking about dying and death and that he'd be willing to do so.

He wouldn't say it wasn't fair, because life never was, but he wished it could have been different for Dean.

Pushing the thoughts away again Bobby read another poem.

* * *

 _There are ghosts galore in this world,_

 _But none of them haunt so fiercely as hunger_

 _When coins are scrapped and dollars are bundled_

 _It's always asked-_

Which is less per gallon?

 _I'm in charge, I always am_

 _I can suffer through this haunting_

 _To spare little Sam_

 _He's too young to fret about_

Rent or dinner this week?

 _Or_

This job or school?

 _So I'll keep him out of trouble_

 _And he'll never have to pinch and squeeze_

 _Just to make it through_

* * *

All he felt after this one was righteous anger. He _knew_ that John shouldn't be as hard on his boys as he was. After all, John had made some pretty shit decisions. But not leaving them with enough money to pay for food while he was gone? That was beyond low.

Bobby was suddenly thankful he'd told John the next time he saw him he'd shoot, because that promise was going to be real easy to keep now more than ever.

The phrase repeated in his mind, _Dean shouldn't have had to worry about this._ He read it over again.

 _Sam Winchester doesn't know how lucky he is._ Bobby shook his head. He didn't think Sam knew of all the sacrifices Dean had made. He knew of a whole slew of things, but the book kept making the pile grow bigger and bigger, each one that addressed a problem showed Dean stoically making decisions in the best interest of the younger brother at his side. That was, except for his issues with his father, which was only mentioned in a few poems here or there (but mentioned and thrown out in a spiteful and hateful manner), and all his talk of death.

Bobby didn't want to dwell on that.

So, he turned the page and continued to read.

The rest sped by as Bobby's pace accelerated again. He figured if he dawdled on every poem, he'd take forever to read the damned book (But it was just an excuse, as he really didn't want to think about all Dean had been through anymore. He was raised in the life, which meant more hardship earlier on. Bobby _really_ didn't want to think about the particulars of what that entailed more than he already had). So, he let his eyes brush over the words and allowed the part of him that cried for Dean to occupy more space than normal.

It wasn't long until Bobby reached the end of the book, the last few flimsy pages showing a poem titled "Something New."

* * *

 _I can't quite_

 _Reach I_

 _Can't quite_

 _See I_

 _Can't quite_

 _Feel my_

 _Vision's hazy_

 _My head's_

 _Pounding my heart's_

 _Beating my hands_

 _Clawing my breath_

 _Panting; I can't quite_

 _Feel, I can't quite_

 _Reach; I'm falling_

Flailing.

 _Shallower breathing_

 _Water around me_

 _But I cannot drink_

 _Grasping at something_

 _I cannot hold_

 _I can't quite make it_

 _I can't quite_

 _Live I_

 _Don't think I_

 _Will make it across_

 _I'm dying_

 _I can't quite stay_

 _I don't want to stay_

 _I'll just let go;_

 _My heart slowing_

 _My hand relaxing_

 _My eyes closing_

 _My smile widening in bitter relief_

 _I had hope but now I know_

 _Life isn't always_

 _Butterflies and rainbows_

 _This journey_

 _Wasn't meant to be completed_

 _For me._

 _The water around me_

 _Lulls me asleep_

 _And I know_

 _That I won't wake up tomorrow;_

 _I'll just drift, drift, drift_

 _Slowly into sea,_

 _My body still_

 _My eyes closed_

 _My mind finally unthinking_

 _My pain and desperation gone_

 _I can't quite hold on_

 _And I slip away,_

 _My last thought a simple but thankful_

Goodbye.

* * *

 _What an effective way to end a book, with a goodbye. How polite, Dean._ Bobby wasn't sure he wanted to think about the poem too much, so sarcasm it was.

He heard Dean's reply in his read too- _C'mon, Bobby, I'm classy. I drive a classy car, eat classy food, have a classy job… what can I say? I'm a gentleman._ He was at least ninety-seven percent sure that there would be an over-exaggerated wink thrown in there somewhere.

The thought made him roll his eyes, and he flicked through the last couple pages in the book filled with all the filler stuff until it lay closed on his lap.

Looking up at his clock, he cursed softly when he saw it was passed midnight and figured he and Dean could talk in the morning. He set down the book softly on the table, flicked the lights off, and prepared himself for staring at the ceiling for an inordinate amount of time before he would fall asleep tonight.

* * *

A/N: Well, there it is! I hope both of them get a good night's rest before their talk, but I don't think it's going to happen. I'd like to thank all of you who gave their opinion on who this chappie should focus on, and based on your responses I figured I shouldn't skip Bobby reading the book. I couldn't bring myself to do it either, to be honest. And lots of you said you trust my opinion? Thank you, I'm honored. I hope this proves my trustworthy-ness (Words. English. Bah!). Are y'all looking forward to seeing Dean and Bobby talk about things? I am excited for writing it! (It might take a couple days, just so you know. I somehow scrounged up the time to do this, but it was a one-off. Really. I suck at prioritizing and I'm a huge procrastinator.)

As always, thank you for reading and have a lovely rest of your day! I am so thankful for you all!

And, now... the part you've been waiting for- comment replies:

Phil the Squirrel, from Fan Gals- Thank you so, so much! Your comment really made my day. It did. I agree with what you've said about this side of Dean not being explored often enough, especially because he takes the role of this big old macho man most of the time. I just love it when we see the more dynamic parts of Dean, and I figured with this, we'd see more of that side, or at least hear from it due to his writing. As for allowing the minor characters to see Dean and describe their relation to his writing, I'm glad it left you wanting more! I actually started this story with the question in my mind - What if I wrote about Dean's teachers? Like different snapshots of Dean's schooling. But then I wanted to mix it up more, and thought- what if he was good at English? The fandom always pushes Dean to be an engineer, or something along those lines, so I thought writing would be a more contradictory and interesting thing to explore. Then, my mind drifted to poems. It was something stereotypically "girly" that Dean had the potential to be amazing at, but ashamed of, and then I knew I had to write it. I actually didn't intend for Dean to ever become a published author, but my muse ran away with the idea, so now we have Bobby in the know. (I'm pumped for Sam to know, and Cas later on. I have to hold back from writing the Cas chapter right now. But then there's John. And I'm not sure how John will take it.) Anyway, I'm sorry to have rambled on so, so long. I hope you enjoyed this part of the story!

Tempermental18- It was worth the wait?! Well, I'm glad to hear it. As for the whole POV thing, I'm going to go back to Dean next chapter. I think both of them deserve a good night's sleep before their talk. We'll see if it turns into a chick-flick moment or a shouting match- with Bobby and Dean I never know until the scene's halfway done!

Irreality- Nice to hear from you again! I think Dean saying he didn't mean any of it was like his last ditch attempt at protecting himself… Good thing Bobby isn't an asshole. I hope knowing what you now know has eased your nerves on what Bobby thinks about the book! Your wary Dean request is coming right up in the next chapter. We'll see if he assumes Bobby's opinion or not when he wakes up, I suppose.

Guest- I think Dean writing makes him more balanced, gives him a good outlet for his angst and problems that he doesn't like to talk about. This would certainly lead to, in my opinion, a better adjusted and happier Dean. So yeah, "all the more sexy" _is_ accurate. I'm happy you enjoyed the story so far!


	9. The Talk

A/N: Hey I'm back with more of this! Not sure how I feel about it, though.

Get ready for Dean and Bobby having a regular people's hour-long shouting match in the span of ten minutes!

* * *

Dean woke up, feeling decidedly nervous. There always seemed to be a misconception that waking up was a state of blissfulness before you'd slowly slide into remembrance. This was utter bullshit to Dean, who always woke up ready and alert, his mind fully focused on what it needed to be.

So, he we awoke at seven forty-two with his mind on the fact that he let Bobby read his book.

He almost wanted to groan and go back to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to, so that was out. And if he stayed up in this room, he'd go crazy. So, trying to quell the nervousness churning in his stomach, he rolled his eyes, got out of bed, and decided to make his way downstairs.

As he neared the stairs, the aromas of fresh ground coffee and bacon assaulted his senses, and the nervous feeling in his stomach worsened to churning. But, not wanting to dwell on that, he tried to set it aside.

 _Why should I be worried? Bobby promised we wouldn't talk about it. I'll just pretend that everything is normal and we should be fine._ He told himself.

A deep breath and a few seconds later, Dean made his way down the stairs, only a poem formed itself line by line as he made his way down.

* * *

 _Thud, thud, thud, thud-_

 _I'm walking to my death._

 _The gallows draw nearer every step_

 _and the executioner awaits_

 _with a smile on his face._

 _Tick, tock; thud, thud, thud, thud._

 _Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum_

 _My feet, my heart, the clock_

 _a symphony all beating,_

 _counting down the time I have left_

 _Left to live, left to love, left to think,_

 _Left to write_

 _All this poetry swirling in my head-_

 _Funnily, it was the very thing that got me here,_

 _But as I stomp to my death I stomp out my fear._

 _If the world wants to know the reason I died_

 _Then they'll know through my poems that I never lied._

 _I knew that this day would eventually come_

 _But I'll die with dignity and my heart will thrum._

 _No matter the cost I shall live through my words_

 _Whose message will spread like a flock of birds._

* * *

He winced a little at the last line- rhyming poems were never his specialty- but the message he was trying to make clear to himself shoe through, and Dean was again confident as he strode into the kitchen.

"Mornin' Bobby. Got some coffee for me?" His trademark grin felt a little off, but it probably wasn't enough for Bobby to notice it.

However, the smile wasn't even needed, as Bobby's hat was pulled low over his eyes and he stared down into his mug of coffee. A small flask was sitting near the mug, the cap sitting nearby as well.

"There's half a pot left." Bobby intoned, his voice rough.

"Seems like you had a night there, Bobby." Dean felt his facade slipping already as he poured coffee into a mug. He then let his eyes focus in on the older man to gauge what was going on.

Bobby definitely looked tired as hell, and the fact that he broke out the liquor before even ten o'clock meant that he was either on his deathbed or in a mood. Thankfully, it seemed like the latter, but Dean winced a little bit upon thinking that his book was what put Bobby into that mood in the first place.

He grabbed some food as well, knowing that Bobby had probably cooked some of it as a distraction from whatever was on his mind.

Dean munched on his food, but stayed quiet, knowing that Bobby would only talk after what he was feeling built up enough. He wanted to avoid any conversation, but he also knew that realistically, Bobby was gonna want to talk one of these days. _Might as well get it over with now,_ he thought, the confidence he'd scrounged up slinking back into the dark.

When Dean was halfway through his eggs, he heard the mug Bobby had been nursing slam on the table. He sharply turned his head to the side, knowing the wait had finally come to an end.

"I'm damn glad I told your daddy that I'd shoot him if he ever came back, 'cause I mean it now more than ever." Bobby looked straight ahead, his mouth set in a deliberate scowl and his eyes piercing through the window above the kitchen sink.

Dean opened his mouth, about to ask _Why?_ However, he thought about it for a moment and thought he knew the answer. A sinking feeling made his stomach feel heavy and he swallowed before trying to rationalize, "Bobby, just-"

"No Dean!" Bobby turned to face him. "None of that was okay. Hell, I knew he'd leave you alone, but I never thought he didn't leave you with enough money to feed yourselves!"

Dean looked away. "We turned out fine. Besides, it's over now." His voice was soft. "Dad did the best he could, and I know that."

Bobby snorted. "Bull _shit_ , Dean. He could have called one of us, any of us. I woulda come for you boys, so would Pastor Jim or Caleb."

Dean didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to remember, all that mattered was that it was _over._ He stood up and took his plate with half the eggs left on it still and placed it by the sink. There was a tense few minutes of clanking of dishes and running water while Dean washed the plate.

After he placed in on the drying rack, Bobby called out, "Dean? You do know that Sam leaving wasn't your fault."

He sighed, the towel rung in his hands. "I hope it wasn't." Now he just sounded tired.

He hoped Bobby didn't hear.

"And Dean?" He called again, softer this time, "I know you miss her still. It's okay to, son. I know I'll miss Karen 'til the day I die." Scuffles followed by footsteps leading away from the dining room rang in his ears, but Dean didn't move.

He just closed his eyes and let it all hit him as his breath became more ragged and the words welled up from inside him, starting to push at the seams of his mind. In compliance, he grabbed a pad sitting nearby and a pencil.

The words came out like the water from a burst dam, his handwriting flowing from a word right into another one.

* * *

 _I can't take this I thought I could take this why did this happen to me right now? Bobby was safe- I was safe here- but now I'm not sure if I'm still safe here. Oddly enough this place is like my home and I don't want to leave it. If the worst happens then I'll just hit the road like always, but where will I go? I have no one. I have nothing, all I own is a second-hand car and a blue folder full of poetry that nobody gives a shit about. I could die tomorrow and who would know? Sam is gone, Dad is gone, the rest are dead and Bobby's going to_ leave _._

* * *

He tore the page out of the notepad and turned it over to the back, feeling his eyes tear up but he _refused, goddammit._ He was _not_ going to cry.

The pencil was lowered to the page again, frantic scribbles making themselves known in harsh lines across the page.

* * *

 _I do miss mom Bobby's right but she's not coming back just like Sam's not coming back and Dad's not coming back and they're never coming back and I'm always left behind I can't deal with it anymore I can't be left alone like this I can't even begin to demonstrate how much of my life has been made up of leaving_

 _But if I leave now I know I won't come back and Bobby will be the one left behind. If this is going to happen, it should at least follow tradition. I'll stay until I'm left, or told to leave. What's one more person on the list, anyway?_

* * *

The paper was quickly folded and shoved into his jacket pocket before he went back up to the room he came from. He shoved the paper into the pocket that papers of not-poetry were in.

He sat on his bed and took a deep breath in, letting his head fall into his hands.

Bobby had a look full of pity and anger in his eyes, one that Dean had never seen before. He wasn't keen to see it again, either.

Dean didn't know how this would be handled or solved, but he only knew that he was never letting anyone he knew read his book again. That, he decided with certainty.

* * *

A/N: So... how was it? We're going to get one more chapter of Bobby, I think, before we get another time skip. (I mean, I can't leave Dean like this, all out-of-whack, thinking Bobby's going to leave or something. That wouldn't be right and I'm a sucker for happy endings)

Please, please, pleas let me know what you think of this chapter because I feel like there's lots of OOC Dean in it.

Also sorry for Dean's stream of consciousness without punctuation but... Sometimes in the _heat of the moment_ that's just how things happen (sorry, I know that was bad).

-O-o-O-

And now what you've all been waiting for! Review replies:

Tempermental18- It means the entire world to me that you like this so much. It just started out as this teeny tiny headcannon I had that almost nobody else seemed to have and now it's this. I hope this chapter was able to brighten your day in a similar fashion to the last one!

Scoutbokmal- I feel the same way as you (and Dean here). I don't like to show all the poetry I've written to others due to its high personal content. I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one!

Jennytork- Oh my gosh. Your idea. YOUR IDEA. I have to make that cannon. I must make that happen in this story. I already have an idea about how it'll happen. This is going to be so fantastic, amazingly fantastic, the BEST! I must thank you for giving me that amazing idea that I won't mention in case anyone who is reading doesn't want spoilers. But still. I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE THE IDEA I HAVE NOW. (I have an outline, PM me if you'd like to see it!)

Rogue8496- I actually made you cry?! Okay I'm actually kind of honored. I never thought my words would have that much power in them. I'm glad you liked it, and hopefully the tears weren't too much. Also, WOO for Team Procrastination!

Kathy- Nice to hear from you again! :) I'm really super happy to hear that you liked the poetry and these chapters! Hope the conversation had between Bobby and Dean is satisfactory…

Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod- Yay, I'm glad to hear that everyone so far sounds in character and you like how it's going! I always wonder if they sound at all like who they really are, especially Dean, and hearing that I'm even somewhat accurate makes me feel loads better!


	10. The Resolution

A/N: Hey guys! First off I'd like to thank all of you who've been reading, reviewing, favoriting, and just liking this story in general! You guys are my motivation to keep writing, really.

Also, this chappie is short. I mean really short, I'm sorry. But, it finishes up the story arc quite nicely, in my opinion. Now, onwards!

Happy reading, and have a lovely rest of your day!

* * *

When Dean came downstairs the following morning, it was still dark outside, the sun not yet over the horizon. The counter was still spotless like it had been when he arrived, with his envelope on the counter. He picked it up, but there was a note under it.

* * *

 _Dean-_

 _I promised you we wouldn't talk about it, and we did anyway. Can't say I'm sorry, but I shouldn't have promised that in the first place. You needed to hear it. And, technically, this ain't talking either, so read up Winchester:_

 _Your checks are still coming here. End of story._

 _I'll try not to bring it up. Can't promise, but I'll try, Dean._

 _I'm gonna read all the stuff you publish. The rule above applies._

 _You want my opinion? It was really well-written Dean. That ain't a lie, son. You write very well. If it weren't true I would've enjoyed it more, though._

 _I don't pity you son. I wish it was different, but I don't pity you._

 _None of what happened back then was your fault._

 _Now, over on the coffee table, there's a case I found. I figure you'll want to clear your head for awhile, so you're welcome to take it._

 _Don't be an idgit, come back soon._

 _Bobby_

* * *

Dean smiled softly at Bobby's words, relief washing over him. He felt a little stupid for going all freak-out, with all that shit about people leaving him (even though there was an element of reality to it that shook him to his core, he'd rather not think about it). Bobby _was_ safe. He was safe here.

However, Bobby was right. He needed the routine and familiarity of a hunt to make him feel balanced and sane again. After reading over the file on a hunt in Nevada on what seemed to be a Black Dog, Dean knew it was almost time to leave.

But first, he felt the urge to write something.

* * *

 _Threatened_

 _Defences up_

 _I thought I was safe but_

 _I'm being attacked! - Oh wait..._

 _False alarm_

* * *

Dean chuckled a bit. Of course, humor was always his go-to for dealing with the hard stuff.

But he felt the urge to just let go. So, he did.

* * *

 _Frozen like ice_

 _I've been found out again_

 _Icicles form outward to dissuade_

 _Don't come closer_

 _Don't ask questions_

 _Wait 'til they walk away_

 _Then I can drip drip drip_

 _Slowly back into water_

 _Flowing away, never returning_

 _To those thoughts and actions and places_

 _Avoiding those stones_

 _Twisting and turning_

 _Until I reach that pure ocean_

 _Of safety, of home, of_ right _._

* * *

He tucked both of them into his pocket, gathered the file, and was about to leave before he ran back inside and tore of a scrap of paper from a notebook of Bobby's to write a quick note.

* * *

 _Bobby-_

 _Thanks. I'll come around next month or sometime for my next check._

 _Take it easy, old man._

 _Dean_

* * *

With a nod, Dean finally clambered into the Impala and started the engine, his spirits much higher than they were even a couple hours before. When this case was over, he might even check on Sam. Nevada and California were close.

With all this considered, Dean felt no remorse driving away from Bobby's house, check in his pocket.

 _Hell yeah! I can already tell this will be a good hunt._

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! I just wanted your opinion again… I have two chapters planned but I'm not sure of what order they should go in. Do you want Dean and some fans or Dean when he comes to pick Sam up from Stanford? I have things planned for both… Just want your opinion on where I should go first!

And… Comment replies:

Tempermental18- I'm really happy you're continuing to enjoy this story, and I'm glad I was able to brighten your evening after having your power go out like that. I'd also like to thank you for your awesome comments that come so swiftly and alway make me smile!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I'm so happy you like to poetry aspect of the book- I thought it would be the thing to turn most people away. Not to mention… they're all my own poems that only I have read before (I beta my own stuff). Your compliments mean the world! I hope this chappie was satisfactory. I have plans for Sam, but unfortunately he's not up right away on the list. But he's there! I can't wait to write for him and Cas!

Guest- I'm so happy you enjoyed the story! Thanks for your review :)


	11. The Reunion

A/N: Hey Guys! Happy New Year to all! I'd like to thank everyone that told me what they wanted next in the story, it helped a lot with this chappie. I have more notes below, but I'll let you know: It's Sammy first!

Also, here's a timeline for those that want to know how much time I've been skipping. This is estimates, but I looked at that fantastic Supernatural timeline so everything is accurate as it can be!

Timeline:

2002- Fallish, Sam leaves for Stanford

2003- Spring, Dean dates Cassie

2004- Spring, Dean decides to go thru with MG

2004- Winterish, Bobby finds out

2005- October 31st / Nov 1st - (1 amish) Dean arrives at Stanford to get Sam

Alright! Happy reading and have a lovely rest of your YEAR! :D

* * *

Dean was worried. Dad hadn't been in contact with him for a couple weeks. He was no stranger to being left alone even before Sam left, but John would usually send coordinates or call him every couple of days. But two weeks was unheard of.

He'd contacted every hunter he knew of asking for him, but nobody had any ideas on where he was located.

Dean had scratched poems anxiously into paper, threatening to tear it with how heavy the strokes were.

After a week of drinking and anxious waiting, Dean decided to look for John himself.

However, he found his car on the road to California. Even though Dean looked after Sam his whole life, Sam was also _his_ constant.

He felt shaken that his dad, the only other constant, might be dead. He needed reassurance, and help.

Night fell as he kept driving in the fast lane, a combination of caffeine, dread, and anxiousness keeping him awake as he drew nearer and nearer to Sam.

* * *

Around one, Dean pulled up to Sam's apartment building. Even if he hadn't talked to Sam since he left, Dean still came by and checked up on his baby brother every few months to make sure he looked happy and healthy. (A parent doesn't abandon their child.)

Thankfully, Sam was on the second floor, which made it easy to break into.

Dean walked through the front door casually, as he had been in the building a couple times to make sure Sam's apartment was secure and properly protected. The person at the front desk recognized him, anyway, and didn't blink an eye when he came though.

He went up the stairs located on the side of the building, which opened up to a window and the door to the apartment. He quickly picked the window open and slid in, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

Now that Dean was in the apartment, about to face Sam, his worry picked up. How would his brother react to him appearing out of the blue and asking him for help in the search for Dad.

He didn't want to admit it, but the thought that Dean might not know Sam anymore entered his head.

He shoved it away as soon as it appeared and shook his head. He could waste no more time on useless thoughts.

Walking toward Sam's room, Dean found himself navigating around the room that had been reorganized since he last was here. Not to mention, it was night. He crept around the couch, but ran into the table next to it, sending something clattering onto the the ground.

He winced as it made a pounding noise. Knowing Sammy would wake up because of it, he stopped trying to be quiet, now walking over to and opening the door he knew had a slight creak to it without trying to muffle it (he was aware that if you held the middle hinge down on the top with one finger the door wouldn't creak, but he felt it would be too little too late).

Suddenly, Dean felt a weight crash into his side, knocking him into the wall.

"Aah!" He grunted in slight pain. _Damn Sammy, you haven't gotten any lighter since I last saw you._

Quickly he turned around, using Sam's own weight to swing him around at the wall he just ran into. They scuffled for a minute, some punches being thrown in the half-light, until Dean had Sam pinned to the ground.

"Woah, easy, tiger." Dean smiled at the surprised look forming on his brother's face. A small part of him ached for just a second, as how much he missed Sam hit him in full force.

"Dean?" Sam panted.

Dean chuckled in response.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Sam's tone was slightly accusatory, but Dean didn't know how Sam would have reacted if he'd knocked on the door at this hour. He might have slammed the door on his face, and Dean didn't want to risk that. Of course, hence breaking in.

"That's 'cause you're out of practice," he chastised gently, knowing Sammy wasn't training everyday like he had been before he left. Dean wasn't mad, it was just a fact.

 _You grew out your hair like mine used to be_ was the next thing to register, and his eyes widened slightly. Sam took advantage of his momentary distraction and flipped him over.

"Or perhaps not," he amended his previous statement, a smile still present on his face. _I'm with Sammy. Sammy's safe. I'm safe here._ He felt secure, wrestling with his brother like old times. After letting it wash over him for a moment, he felt the weight of his mission come back full force.

"Get off me," he told Sam, patting his brother's arms. _Now_ , his tone implied, and Sam listened.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" _Ah, the million dollar question._ Sam helped him up, and wanting to push off the thoughts of Dad maybe being dead, he decided to reply in a flippant manner.

"I was looking for a beer." He shook Sam's shoulders slightly.

However, before he could continue, the light flicked on revealing a blonde girl looking slightly confused. "Sam?" She asked.

"Jess," he confirmed. "Hey…" He looked at Dean then back at Jess before settling his gaze on Dean.

"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica." Dean looked her up and down, nodding all the way.

 _Way to gooooo, Sammy._ He knew his brother had landed a girl, but he'd never seen her up close, and man was she out of his brother's league.

"Wait. Your brother Dean?" She asked, confused clearing from her face as she walked toward them and pointed at Dean.

Noticing her t-shirt, Dean pointed at it and smiled a bit. "I love the Smurfs," he told her, busting out his lady-killer vibe.

"You know, I got to tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league." He walked toward her too, playing up his flirting just a little bit. He wasn't going to do anything, this was _Sammy's_ girl, but he had a lot of nervous energy laying around, his fingers itched for a pen, and flirting was the next-best outlet. Didn't help things that she was really quite attractive. He thought again that Sam had learned well and gotten himself a fine girl.

She laughed a little bit. "Just let me put something on," she said, brushing him off and looking toward Sam in what he read as slight exasperation.

"No, no." Dean shook his head. "No, I wouldn't dream of it." He paused. "Seriously," he continued, flicking his eyes downward and back up with a smile.

She quirked her eyebrows up and rolled her eyes a bit, obviously annoyed with his antics. Since he wasn't getting anywhere, and this was _Sammy's_ girl ( _damn_ , he thought again) he turned to his brother, ready to tell him what was up.

"Anyway," he turned away, rushing his next sentence, "I got to borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business, but uh," he turned back toward her, "nice meeting you."

She smiled at him uncomfortably for another moment, but Sam finally spoke up.

"No." He stated.

Dean felt his eyebrows fly up in shock as his baby brother walked away from him and to the sleepy girl still standing in her pajamas. It just made the ache he'd been shoving down grow, and the giddy elation of seeing his brother again start to wear off.

"No, whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her." Sam looked at him, his eyes hard and his hand floating to his hip.

Hurt, Dean spit out, "Okay" sassily and walked a couple steps toward them, legs swinging. Also slightly unsure of how to phrase it and unsure of his standing in the house (he'd always been there for Sammy, he'd always been his first and now there was overwhelming evidence that it wasn't him, wasn't and hadn't been for some time) Dean thought for a moment before replying.

"Um, Dad's been… _missing_ for a couple days." He hoped that would be enough.

Instead, he got, "So he's working overtime on a "miller time" shift, he'll stumble back in sooner or later," spouted back at him, sarcasm and disregard blatant through the words. The slight eye narrowing and quirk of his head that Dean knew also conveyed that he was still pissed at Dad. Dean expected that, but now he needed something else to convey the gravity of the situation.

He nodded, showing Sam in their complex language of gestures and movements that he understood. Then, he knew a single word added to his sentence would turn the tide. "Dad's on a _hunting_ trip," he clarified, "and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam's eyes hardened even more and he stared into Dean's eyes.

 _C'mon baby brother. He could be dead, he could be maimed, nobody I know has seen or heard from him in ages. Please listen to me._ His eyes softened to convey his message.

Sam's eyes were unforgiving and unrelenting. _Dean. Why?_

He felt his shoulders give out a little bit. _Sammy, you're a last resort, I wouldn't come if I could do it myself._ He thought to himself, _I didn't mean to come but you're my something solid. I looked out for you, but you also looked out for me._

The hardness wasn't gone but he saw it when Sam gave in. _Fine, Dean._ He opened his mouth and three hard words came out. "Jess, excuse us."

Dean felt relief wash over him and he lead Sam away from the living room and into the kitchen, while Jess retreated into their room.

"Tell me more, Dean. What's going on? And why the hell couldn't you have waited 'til morning?"

He felt the truth wanting to come out, but pushed it down. "Well, Sammy, I haven't heard from dad in about two weeks. He usually checks up no me or sends a text but he hasn't. After one week I contacted all the people I knew asking about him, and none of them have seen him. Last I heard he was hunting a woman in white in Jericho-"

Sam held out his hand. "Dean. I know you're worried, but if I'm going with you, and that's an if, I'm not leaving here 'til morning."

Dean felt his face contort into a face, feeling his mask slipping even more, his fingers playing with the bottom of his jacket, wanting to hold a pen if only to twirl it around.

Sam looked more concerned now, the hardness fading from his eyes as he seemed to gather how off Dean was.

Dean tried to push it away, but Sam asked him in that soft voice of his, "Dean, is everything okay with you?" Three years had passed, but that tone still made Dean want to tell him everything.

 _I can't seem to write my second book, I'm seeing you for the first time in three years, Dad's missing… No, I'm obviously just fine._

He smirked, the expression forced. "Picture perfect, Sammy."

Sam gave him a look that said he knew he was lying but he'd go along with it.

"Go to sleep on the couch. I need to pick up some stuff before we leave, and you need rest." Sam would bet on his life that Dean hadn't slept more than twelve composite hours in the past five days.

Before Dean could protest, he lead him to the couch, shoved clothes in his arms, and went into his room to tell Jess what was going on.

Dean felt simultaneously relieved and anxious- Sam was making him rest, but Dad was out there with no help or news.

But, twenty minutes later, Sam came back out and gave him a look.

"You better not leave tonight, Dean. When I wake up, you better be in this apartment."

Already half-asleep from resting on the couch, he nodded. "Sure Sammy. Don't wanna miss out seein' your girl tomorrow either, yeah?"

Sam snorted. "Please don't flirt with Jess, dude. I thought we agreed not to do that kind of stuff after the fiasco with Cindy Ratford in Utah."

Dean chuckled. "Uh huh. Yeah. G'night Sammy."

He thought he saw his brother softly smile in return. "Night Dean." He heard before footsteps leading away from him before he closed his eyes, sleep somehow coming easy to him knowing he was resting in his baby brother's apartment.

* * *

A/N: Wow. I'm super excited for this ark… There's more to come! And I know Dean staying the night isn't cannon. But, even though this runs with cannon I also has to change some things in order for certain plot things to happen… So Dean's staying the night with Sammy. I also had to watch the first part of the pilot so many times to get all the dialogue and stuff so woo! They look so small and cute!

Anyway I also took the long-hair thing from that post, if you've seen it, showing a picture of Dean on one of his old IDs from something showing him with longer hair. I thought Dean might pick up on Sam's and that Sam might have done it because of Dean. I don't know, it was three am when I wrote this and I thought it was cute!

Jid-doi- Thanks for your input! I hope you liked the start of this ark!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Oh… I didn't know it felt like that. I'm a person who actually likes happy endings, but I know what you mean, the other shoe always drops with the Winchesters. And I suppose you might call it brave to post and beta my own stuff so thank you! You stay awesome too, your reviews bring light to my day! I hope you liked this chappie :)

Guest (1)- Good point on the Stanford things, it was one of the deciding factors for me to do Sam first.

Csupnatfan- Thanks for your compliment on my poetry! I always feel really happy when people commend me on it, it means so much. I hope this reunion was good! Sam will read the book, just… eventually. You'll see :D

Irreality- I hope you enjoyed this chappie, seeing as it was the one you voted for! This arc isn't quite done yet… I have a surprise up my sleeve! After it, though, we'll definitely see Dean having to come up with some excuses and Sam being suspicious!

Tempermental18- Thank you so much for your well-wishes! I hope this new year brings fantastic things for you and your loved ones as well! I chose Sam first because I want Dean to have to come up with excuses and Sam being suspicious… haha I hope you'll like it! But this arc isn't done yet and I have more to write about this pick-up!

Guest (2)- Thank you for your vote! Even though it didn't go your way, I hope you liked this chappie anyway :)


	12. A Revelation

A/N: Woohoo, sorry about the wait guys! I've been busy, life sucks yadda yadda. Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but eh. It's up to you guys.

Have a wonderful day and let's get onto that happy reading!

* * *

 _This is weird._ Dean thought, looking over at Sam and Jessica bustling around in the kitchen. They moved in such a seamless manner, ducking and weaving around each other without problems.

He felt like an outsider in their house as he was left playing with the oatmeal in the dish in front of him.

Dean let his eyes drift away from the sight and ended up gazing at the book titles on his bookshelf.

There were an assortment of law books mixed with some sci-fi and some popular new books.

"I'm gonna get ready for the day, babe. Be back out in a few," Dean heard Jess say to Sam.

He ignored this, though, and went back to scanning the room with his eyes, letting them linger on the small details, like the pictures of Sam and Jess and their friends smiling in different locations.

 _Sammy looks so happy…_ Dean wished he could have been there when it happened. All of it. He'd missed so much even just in those few years, and he'd never get it back. His gaze returned to where his brother stood in the kitchen.

Sam was holding a pan and looking at him intently. Dean could garner from his look that he'd been studying Dean for quite a bit, thanks to the saddened but confused look on his face.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was hesitant and Dean didn't want to answer.

His gaze darkened and he looked away, focusing on the bookshelf again. And, tucked into the corner of a bookshelf, he saw a familiar-looking paperback.

 _Mary's Gold._

He shot up from his stool, panic flaring at an immense rate. Dean scrambled to get control of himself before Sam noticed, but it was hard to put a damper on the thoughts running rampant through his head.

 _Shitshitshit Sam has my book oh fuck what if he's read it what if he-_

"Dean?" Sam said again.

The worried tone made instinct kick in, and his mask slid over his face quickly.

"I'm just horrified that my baby brother has turned so soft that he's reading poetry!" Dean walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a book that had flowery script on the side and opened it up, hoping with all his might it was a poetry book.

Luck was in his favor and he began to read in a frilly voice.

"Crumbling, falling, down to the ground

As my thoughts tumble 'round.

An hour ago I was in the sky

Watching as the clouds rolled by-"

He cut off to glance up at Sam, who was all red and thankfully didn't look worried anymore.

"They're Jess's books, Dean. She likes to read poetry and has taken classes for it. I haven't touched that shelf. Ever."

Relief swept through him faster than a flood and he eased into his smile. Wiping his forehead in a gesture to continue the joke, Dean added, "I'm so glad you haven't fully turned into a girl Samantha. All you need to do now is get me some scissors, and we can chop off that mane of yours."

Sam glared at him before they were interrupted by Jess coming back out, now fully dressed and ready for the day.

"Hey babe, hey Dean." She nodded at both of them. "What's up?"

Sam smiled at her. "Not much. Just messing around with my brother." He moved closer to her, and Dean could tell that his little bro was smitten over this girl. It just reinforced his sadness that he'd missed all Sam's college years.

Dean zoned out while they talked about a few things, watching instead how they interacted. Dean knew people from hunting, conducting interviews and the like. And he also knew Sam like the back of his hand, the brother he always had at his side.

He watched at their eyes stayed in contact with each other, how they leaned into each other to talk, and how Sam had a smile on his face that would brighten into his crinkly-eyed one when she said something funny. His brother looked relaxed, loose. It was a look Dean had only seen a handful of times, and it definitely suited Sam. Jessica also had an easy smile and a twinkle in her eye. He knew Sammy would come back to her after they found Dad.

"Didn't you say you needed to get some stuff, Sam?" Dean heard.

Dean stepped into their conversation upon hearing this. "Ah, that's okay sweetheart, really. I'll get the stuff and Sammy can pack. It'll be faster that way, probably."

Sam turned to him, rolling his eyes. "Dean, you don't know where anything is. I live around here."

Dean just raised his eyebrow and stared into Sam's eyes.

 _You think I haven't been around little brother? Yeah right, think again._

Sam, however, did not react to his stare in the way he'd hoped, instead he rolled his eyes.

Jess, somehow sensing their argument, added in, "I would love to get to know you, Dean. I'm sure you can tell me lots about Sam. He doesn't talk about his family often."

Dean smirked. He knew how well Sam handled questions he didn't want to answer. It was like trying to kill a ghost with regular bullets: it didn't work.

Then, he realized- he had so many baby Sammy stories to tell, as he'd taken care of Sam his entire life. A wicked grin spread over his face.

"Yep, nevermind. Sammy, you go. I have lots of things to talk about with Jess, here."

Sam looked at him in suspicion. Dean met his gaze and dimmed his smile.

"Don't worry dude. You know what you need anyway. I can pack for you and Jess can help. I know what you need, she knows where it is. Now go!"

Sam rolled his eyes again, mouthed, "Cindy Ratford" at Dean, then grabbed his wallet.

"Don't do anything stupid. And Jess, don't listen to him! He's full of lies." Jess laughed and kissed his cheek before yelling bye and slamming the door.

 _And then there were two._

Suddenly, all Dean could see was the bookshelf of poetry, where Mary's Gold was placed inconspicuously on a shelf. He knew every word and every page intimately, and it seemed so coincidental that it was in Sam's apartment of all places that Dean was freaking out a little bit.

He cleared his throat and gestured to the bookshelf. "So, Jess, Sammy told me you're, ah, interested in poetry, huh?" _Damn it why did I have to bring that up?_

She nodded, keeping a pleasant smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm minoring in it, majoring in pre-med with an emphasis in psychology. Anyway, I really like how poetry feels when it comes from the soul, I read lots of it and I'm even friends with the owner of the bookshop down the street who tells me when they have a new poetry book in." She seemed to snap back into focus after that, he eyes widening as she stammered, "Oh, but you probably don't care about that. I'm sorry, I get so caught up in it and-"

"It's okay, really. You shouldn't apologize for talking about the thing you love. I mean, if nobody did things cared about, we'd be all, ' _What's motivation, in this world where no tasks are_

 _worthwhile of my time?_ ' "

Dean's eyes widened slightly as he realized he was quoting himself. _Firstly, only dicks quote themselves. Secondly, what the_ fuck _do you think you're doing?! She's going to find you out!_

He looked at Jessica, whose eyes narrowed slightly, but he slipped back into the cocky grin he normally wore and spread his arms.

"I mean, right?" He asked.

She held the stare for another minute before nodding slowly. "Yeah. I'm glad I have it. I love medicine but also my poetry keeps me sane."

Dean nodded awkwardly and stuck his hands in his pockets, jerking his head toward Sam and Jess' room. "Well, we said we'd pack for Sam, so we should do that before he gets back."

Dean followed Jess's lead and in no time (and a little awkwardness) they were packing for Sam.

"So," Dean started, "I heard you wanted some stories about Sam? I got plenty. What do you wanna hear about?"

Jess handed him some shirts and he rifled through them while listening to her reply.

"Hm… Well, tell me something he did as a kid that he wouldn't want anyone to know about! I have no embarrassing stories about Sam. He won't tell me anything."

Dean put a few items into the bag he had out and nodded. "Sammy's like that. But hey, I have some ammo for you now. So, when he was younger, Sammy was a little bit of a klutz. He'd trip over stuff and get little scrapes and bruises everywhere. Once, he even broke his arm by jumping off a playground structure because he was convinced he was Superman and he could fly!" Dean chuckled at the memory. "Anyway, when he'd get hurt, probably until he was about eleven or twelve even, he'd always ask for a story. I-" Dean choked up a little bit at this part, it had been so long and all the sudden all the memories were making their way to the forefront of his mind and _oh god,_ he missed Sam.

He couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, so he continued, "I'd always tell him about this stupid golden dragon named Willem who was a prince and we had a whole 'nother world, you know? Full of Willem and the things he'd do, the people he'd save. And the different color fires for their breath meant different things. We could never fully decide what color Willem's was but I think Sam insisted that his was rainbow colored so he could do it all. And Sammy… He'd always forget about whatever bump or scrape he had and just, be enthralled by this shit, I'm telling you."

Jess just kept on handing him clothes, letting him spill out about Sam. He was sure she picked up on him not being completely okay, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she only asked, "You really looked after him, didn't you?"

Dean found himself telling the truth instead of lying, for some reason. "Yeah. _I've tended almost every cut, bruise, and illness since he was six months old._ I got good at it real quick." He found himself leaning on his poetry again, but it didn't matter because that's what he _did._ He just fell back on what he knew and coped how he always did, by writing.

He saw Jess nod out of the corner of his eye. "Sam does that too, you know?" She didn't elaborate, just kept moving on. "And I know that he has this paper in his nightstand. I read it once." She looked right at him, her eyes full of something he didn't understand.

"It's a list. A list of things he doesn't want to forget, and it's old. You're in almost every single one of the items on that list. And the other thing in there? It's a story about the _Adventures of Willem the Dragon_. Says it was written by Dean Winchester."

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a minute. _Sammy never forgot. He always kept that stupid thing…_

"Sammy was always too sentimental." Dean smiled in bitter retrospect and humbled joy. "He used to try and get Dad to let him keep these cheap paperback novels I'd get for him to read, but Dad would throw them out, said we didn't have room. Doesn't mean he didn't try."

Jess sighed. Dean knew she wasn't ready for their conversation to the over, but Dean had a strict no chick-flick moments rule to adhere to and that came way too close to one.

"Answer me this Dean," she tried, "if all of this was nothing, just a semblance of reality, what would you do about it?"

Well," Dean started, thinking about his answer, " _if this is all just a grand illusion_ …" He decided that he'd let his words speak for them again, and let them pour out of him like the dewfall. " _I'd rather it be an illusion of outward appearance to inner value, rather than shapes on a plain field of sameness. But then again, if this is an illusion; I am nothing, you are nothing, and my work means nothing_ -"

"Dean Winchester!" Jess interrupted him, her voice slightly scolding and amazed all at once. "You're not answering my question. And you're stealing your answer from one of my favorite poems." She narrowed her eyes at him before running out of the room faster than he could tell her to wait up.

Dean felt the entire world around him freeze with shock. _First, she recognized my poetry. Second, she said that poem was one of her favorites?!_ Slowly, his hands began to tremble as he realized this girl knew so much about him just by reading the book.

She came back only moments later, her copy of _Mary's Gold_ in her hand. She didn't stop to look at dean before stating, "You added onto the poem you just said. It ends with "on a plain field of sameness" but you kept going."

Dean chuckled nervously, the whole time wanting to disappear, but he secured his mask and answered, quelling the quake in his hands. "Yeah, sweetheart, I only wrote that part after my overzealous editor got her hands on the final manuscript. Sorry. No time to change it."

And amazingly, Jess just handed the book over. "Sign it. Sign it as Dean Winchester."

He did.

It was the first signed copy with his real name on it- and the only one that would ever exist. Not even Bobby had the balls to ask him to sign the book.

And while he thought she was going to discuss all that had happened more with him, they just went back to packing Sam's bag in silence until they were finished.

Jess replaced the book on the shelf.

"I won't tell him." Was all she said.

Dean nodded and when Sam came she hugged them both at the door and told Sam to hurry back even though she knew it was important to go find his father.

* * *

Two days later, Jess died in the fire. The book and all of Sam's happy college memories burned with her. Sam, Dean knew, would never be the same.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

I know I'm a sadistic bastard who likes to toy with characters but this needed to happen, I think. Also I'd like to take the time to thank **jennytork** for the idea of having Jess read _Mary's Gold._ It was thanks to that wonderful idea that this happened (as well as the fact that I spent three previous hours reading sad fanfic).

Now, PLEASE TELL ME- did you think Dean was too OOC? I think my mood was influencing him to be all over the place, but eh. Let me know, please!

Review Replies:

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Hello! It's very nice to hear from you again! I'm so glad you liked the last chappie as much s you did, you review makes me smile each time I look at it. Also I'm glad you liked the hair thing! I just had to put it in, because as you said, _nobody else has done it_ (at least that I know of). I had to put it in somewhere!

Tempermental18- This is the twist… heh heh… I hope you like it! I also hope it wasn't too dark or skippy or anything. Let me know what ya think of it!

Ncsupnatfan- I'm so happy you're good with this story running up next to cannon and changing things around. The second book… Well let's say I have a few options but if you look at this chapter for a bit you'll see one of my genius ideas. Sammy'll find out soon, don't worry!

Irreality- Yay! I'm glad you enjoy that I'm changing things around. I think that Sam and Dean, even if they haven't seen each other in a couple of years, would still be finely attuned to each other. I wanted them to care more, to be honest. And yeah… lack of poetry. Don't worry, this arc is over and next time we will get a good look into about four or five of Dean's poems!

Rimeko- I'm super glad I could sway you over onto the Writer!Dean bandwagon! Thank you so much for your kind words. I apologize for the absurd wait time on this chapter, but I hope this satisfies your longing!

Rogue8496- I so appreciate your continued support on this story, it means so much! And don't worry about ol' Sammy boy. He'll find out sooner or later :)


	13. Sickness Within Mourning

A/N: Hello! I'd like to just thank all of you who've read my story- you're all AMAZING and you compel me to write so much. Without you I wouldn't be here, doing this. And all nine of you who reviewed last chapter, this one is for you! I was planning to move on the the next arc, but Dean was stubborn, he wanted to help Sam and I just had to give in. There's finally poetry too!

Anyway, enough of this. Let's get on with it!

Have a lovely read and day!

* * *

It had been a couple of weeks since Jess had died, and Dean knew that Sam wasn't alright. He did all he could to support his brother, who he knew needed chick flick moments of talking to let it all out, and Dean was there for him.

But Sam wasn't acting like himself. He didn't want to talk to Dean and he was shutting himself up, letting out everything late at night when he thought Dean was asleep. He'd just sob gently and Dean's heart would break bit by bit until he'd be crying a little bit too. Then, he'd have to get up and they'd pretend nothing had happened the next day, even though Sam had big dark bags under his eyes and a lost, listless expression that wouldn't leave.

However, Dean had written so many poems in the last week that he thought about maybe getting a new folder. His old one was so worn and stuffed full that he was sure it would break quite soon.

But he just kept ignoring it because Sam lost Jess and he didn't want to lose his folder. It was a part of him.

But he was worried about Sam. It showed in his writing, as it was the only way to get it all down.

* * *

 _I can see the pain in his eyes_

 _He hides it from me but_

 _I've known him all my life_

 _He's like a shadow of himself_

 _Barely living and always drinking_

 _He wasn't supposed to use my coping habits_

 _He always told me they were unhealthy_

 _But now he's the one bottling and drinking_

 _And I'm not him_

 _I can't tell him to stop and talk to me_

 _I've never been the instigator_

 _He doesn't know how to tell me_

 _But he's broken and I'm the only one left to fix it_

* * *

 _I've always been a hunter_

 _But Sam's a learner_

 _He wasn't like the rest of us_

 _I used to hate him for getting out_

 _But he found a life worth living_

 _So now it seems so weird to see him_

 _Drinking and swearing with the rest of us_

 _Talking about guns and monsters,_

 _The hatred burning in his eyes_

 _He used to hate this_

 _But now he takes solace in it_

 _And that's the worst thing_

 _That Sammy's changed so fundamentally_

 _That I don't know him anymore;_

 _That he's become_ Sam

* * *

Dean tried. He did what he could for his baby brother because _dammit_ , he _raised_ him. But Sam continued on his path of melancholy.

Dean waited. He gave Sam time and space and they shot monsters and killed things.

They saved lives, and Dean made sure he knows that he was still doing good in the world. That he could still be good, even with Jess gone.

Slowly, Dean saw the light stay in his eyes longer. The moments were tinged with sadness, but Dean could make him laugh.

He wrote it all down.

* * *

 _Sometimes it all seems better_

 _I have to get to know him all over again_

 _But four years and a death will do that to you_

 _Sometimes I see him smile so wide_

 _And my chest will ache because I know_

 _He'll turn to the side for her_

 _But she isn't there and his smile falls_

 _And he'll stare out the window for hours_

 _His face more defeated than I've ever seen it_

 _Not talking, barely blinking, always thinking_

 _But she's dead and she's not coming back_

 _And I know I can't help him forget it_

* * *

 _I wanna see my brother laugh again_

 _Because that's what I used to do_

 _When we were little,_

 _If he was sad and crying_

 _I'd make funny faces 'til he lit up_

 _Or tell him a story about a dragon_

 _And I could always get him to smile_

 _To promise that he was okay_

 _But now I can barely do that_

 _I can only offer a "bitch"_

 _To let him know I care_

 _Yet, still, my heart is lightened_

 _When I hear the soft, mumbled, "jerk."_

* * *

And, thankfully, Sam slowly started to smile longer, laugh more. Dean heard him cry at night fewer and fewer times until he didn't. He looked straight into Sam's eyes one day and told him, "We'll get that sonuvabitch."

Sam knew he was talking about Yellow-Eyes.

Sam just smiled this terrifying cold smile that looked wrong on his puppy dog face and replied, "We will." He turned away from Dean. "We will if it kills me."

Dean used to think Sam and his Dad were opposites. Now he thought they had too much in common.

They continued to drive around the United States, saving people and hunting things. Dean thought that Sam would eventually be alright. But a part of him had definitely changed.

All Dean did about it, though, was make Sam's favorite food when he could get away with it, leave the music on stuff he knew Sam liked without changing it too much, and he tried not to bitch to him too much.

He thought it helped, because Sam was one smart motherfucker and he _noticed_ shit, especially how Dean did stuff for him.

They learned about each other again. Dean now could read his brother with a glance, like how it was when they were kids. Dean knew that Sam could read him again too.

He learned that Sam picked up some new habits when he was at Stanford, too. When Sam was thinking about Jess, he'd tug on the bottom of his sleeves. When he did research, he sat on a pillow and had the sun at his back. He drank his coffee with a whole bunch of girly shit in it that Dean didn't even want to think about, and he hummed _Boulevard of Broken Dreams_ sometimes while he stared out the window.

Dean categorized it and added it to the things he knew about Sam. Sometimes he wondered what Sam noticed about him when he drove for long periods of time.

* * *

Then Sam got sick. It changed things, because he had a fever and he wasn't thinking clearly.

He had a routine when Sam was sick, got him the same medicine he always had since Sammy was a kid, and fixed him up. And in the fringes of his 103 degree fever, Sam asked for a story.

It only took Dean a second to think about what story he would tell.

"There once was a dragon," he started, "whose name was-"

Same cut in. "Prince Willem."

Dean bit his lip and nodded a bit. "Yeah, Sammy, that's right. The dragon's name was Prince Willem and he was son to the famous King Astrid. Willem was a dragon with golden-green scales, he was beautiful, and it was almost his inauguration day. However, he wanted to do something special for his kingdom and subjects he loves so much. He wanted to make them happy, and provide for all of them, which he knew he could do if he got the True Wish crystal. It was a special kind of magic that granted only the purest and truest of wishes. Prince Willem knew with all his heart that he would wish for all the subjects in his kingdom to have all the resources they needed. And so, he went on a search over mountains and through plains…"

As Dean went on, he felt Sam relax into him, just listening to his voice. Dean didn't know when Sam fell asleep, but he just kept going until the end of the story.

* * *

When Sam felt better two days later, they were packing up to leave.

"I never thought I'd hear that again," Sam blurted unexpectedly.

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"I stopped asking about Willem 'cause I learned that supernatural things existed and I was embarrassed that I made you tell me stories. I thought you forgot about it."

Dean looked over at his brother, who was cleaning the guns on the bed with a towel. He saw the slight tension in his shoulders, meaning Sam was nervous.

"I never forgot, Sammy." His tone was too warm, too soft, but he knew Sam needed it and he wasn't afraid, not his time. "Jess told me you kept that book I wrote you about him too. I… I'm glad you kept it, and I'm sorry it's gone now. But… when you want it I still have them all." He tapped his head. "They're all up here, Sammy."

Then he had to leave to motel room under the guise of getting some gas in the Impala, but that was okay, because he finally knew that Sam would be okay this time, and he would be with his brother every step of the way.

* * *

A/N: Alright, so that concludes this arc. I wrote this all in one big rush (no like literally it happened in an hour and now I'm posting it. Practically no editing done hahAHA) and so I hope you like it. I felt kind of sad so that's why this chapter is. And I know it isn't as detailed as the last few chapters but I felt like that's what this chapter needed. So here we are.

This goes against he tone of the story but when I was editing I smiled because I wrote that Sam _had a fever of one-hundred-and-three_. Foreigner, anybody?

Moving on, remember that vote you all did? Well, next time we're going to have option number two up- Dean and some fans! Have any ideas? Write 'em down for me!

Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think! I love your comments with all of my heart.

Speaking of which… here are the comment replies:

Tempermental18- ah yes, thank you for the reassurance! I enjoy sad fics too… I was just reading one before I wrote this actually! Glad Dean wasn't OOC and I hope he continues to stay that way. Dean's hard to pin down and he's hard for me to write sometimes. But, I think this fic is worth chasing Dean Winchester around for!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Why do your comments always make me smile so much? Thank you for you detail and enthusiasm because they are so fantastic. I hope you didn't get lectured about yelling at midnight thanks to my writing! I really hope you liked this chapter as much as the last one!

Jennytork- *hugs you back and thanks you for your wonderful idea*

I am so happy that you liked how I dealt with Jess! I wanted her to stick around longer so bad, but I had to let her go and it killed me a little inside. But hey! Then we get sad angsty stuff like this chapter! I hope you continue to like what's going on and if you have any more ideas, let me know! I love hearing them!

Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod- I'm so glad you enjoyed the interaction! Jess reading the book was Jennytork's call but I felt it was a nice touch when I added it. And Sam still doesn't know… sigh. But yes! I agree with you about the ending, however I hope this made up for it a little!

Scoutbokmal- Yes! Dean needs his acceptance! I'm so part of the Dean Defence Squad, not that he needs it, but I'm here anyway haha. I would have loved him to get to know Jess more, but then I fear something still would have happened and it would have been worse because he knew her. I think he didn't feel Jess's death much here because he was too worried about Sam to dwell on it. He's had to deal with people he's grown to care about dying in cases sometimes, I think, and he's good at bottling. Sam isn't, as we know.

Kathy- Wow, I didn't know I could bring tears to your eyes… I feel kind of honored, actually. I'm so glad you like the poems. I really try with the poems and sometimes I wonder if people even like them at all, but most seem to and it makes me infinitely happy. And don't worry! Dean has great plans for Willem the Dragon!

Aislinn Rose- You humbly asked for more, and I am humbly serving. Your words mean the world to me, thank you for them. I always wished Dean would be more open about himself, and I feel his poetry allows him to do just that. Instead of fully repressing things, he bottles them until he spews everything into his poetry. It provides him a release, which I think allows him to feel more at peace with himself and that he can show more emotion. I think it suits him, and I'm glad you feel the same.

Rimeko- I'm glad you think my chappies are worth the wait! I'll admit that I do agree with you a bit, I am slightly sadistic. Jess wasn't someone I wanted to kill, but it was either now and quite painful or later and exquisitely painful. But, Dean was accepted for who he was, and even if Jess is dead, he still has that experience, which is good.

Ncsupnatfan- I'm so glad you liked the last chappie! I hope this illustrated Sam's loss a bit more. You see, I have great plans for Sam. You're right, there are so many ways that he could find out. Which one is it? All I'm going to tell you is that it's coming, slowly but surely. And you can bet that when he does find out it's going to be a hell of a time!


	14. An Unexpected Turnaround

A/N: Hey what's up, it's been *checks calendar* … _awhile._ Well, I have this next installment here now! Hope you guys like it! Have a great read and day!

* * *

The timing was the worst part of it all. Had it been even two days earlier or one day later, he could have handled it. However, it was right in the middle of a salt-n-burn that was more trouble than it was worth when she called.

Of course, it was early, after Dean and Sam had been up researching into inane hours of the morning. Dean groaned as the phone rang shrilly, and he almost wanted to throw the thing across the room and smash it to pieces.

But then he rolled over to check who it was and saw: **Call from Kendra Reid.**

 _Fuck, I'm screwed._ Now wide awake, Dean threw the covers off and went outside while answering the phone.

"Hey, what's up?" He asked, wary but a little flirty to his editor. After Hazel had gotten him onboard with becoming a writer for the company, she hooked him up with Kendra, who would oversee his editing process and be his publicist. Thankfully, she was competent, and Dean had no problems while working with her. However, she could be stubborn as Sam sometimes, which was saying something.

"Dean. I know we discussed this, but I thought if I didn't remind you, you might _forget_."

 _Oh shit, this doesn't sound good at all._

"Forget what? You know I'm a man of my word." He had to turn the phone away from his mouth to yawn, but waited for her reply anxiously.

He heard her sigh. "Yes, of course Dean. But I had a feeling you wouldn't remember our agreement that you have a meetup to discuss your book in two days. Remember? You're supposed to come to Emeryville, near San Francisco."

"Oh," he said, "that."

"Mhm, yes, _that_." Dean could practically see Kendra rolling her eyes. "Dean, I have the feeling you don't like talking about _Mary's Gold._ And I get it, I do. A lot of it seems really personal. So, all you really have to do is come up with another story if you don't want to tell them. You're an author. Tell them it's your dreams, or your friend, something made up. That's fine. But when you signed that contract with Ms. Rider, you promised two books and ten little gatherings like this one, five for each book. It's simple. Don't come, don't get paid." She let that ring across the line for a couple of seconds before she went on. "I'll text you the details. You better be there, Dean Campbell." Then she hung up.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and winced, a mix of shock, awe, and fear running through his veins. The only thought he let surface was, _Damn, now I remember why I called her overzealous and stubborn. Kendra's a real spitfire, that's for sure._

He pushed down the fact that he'd have to talk about his book for later. Thoughts ran through his brain at breakneck speed, excuses for getting out of this thing flying through his head. There was no way he'd consent to it.

First, he was in the middle of a _hunt_. Second, Sam was an observant little shit, and he was _here._ Dean couldn't just ditch him, no matter how much it might seem like the only option. Not to mention, he was still getting over the Jess ordeal, and Dean really didn't want to leave him alone just yet.

 _I might have to pull out a family emergency or two…_ he thought, but it registered that he couldn't get out of all ten of the meetings that way. _Why did I sign that damn contract without renegotiating those damn meetups off it?!_

Just then, he felt his phone vibrate again and saw a message from Kendra.

 **Dean Campbell. I am expecting you to be in Emeryville at the Barnes and Noble at 8:00 AM sharp two days from now. Do not play games with me. Do not lie. Show up, or I will hunt you down. Love, K**

He chuckled a bit, but felt a sense of defeat run through him. He had to go.

 _This is why you avoid getting a job, dipshit. It makes you have responsibilities._

Dean shuddered at the thought, definitely agreeing with the voice in the back of his head.

He was shaken from his thoughts, however, by the opening of the motel door, which revealed a tired Sam.

"Dean, who was that? What's going on? It's early as hell." He looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed, and proved the assumption correct when he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Dean came up with something on the spot. "Bobby!" He cried. _Yes, good idea!_ "It was Bobby."

Sam looked at him skeptically. "Dean, we haven't spoken to Bobby in years. Why would he call?"

Dean cleared his throat and looked away. "Dad wasn't available and I needed help. I went to Bobby, he was closest and practically welcomed the sight of me." Dean shook his head. "Anyway, we need to go."

"But the hunt isn't done yet!" Sam protested. "We can't just leave without solving it." That was an odd sentence to be coming from Sammy's mouth, but Dean let it slide as he'd been doing since Jessica had been killed.

"Well, we can get Bobby to put another hunter on the job. Look, Sam, he needs us to do something really important. We have to go now."

Sam still looked skeptical, but he just told Dean, "Well, I'll get ready then. You have to go tell all the people we've been helping out that we had to go and someone will be here soon. This better be really important." Then, he went back inside the room.

Dean felt like he'd dodged a bullet, but then realized that he needed to call Bobby right away.

Glancing through the window to make sure Sam was occupied, he dialled and tapped his foot, waiting for an answer.

"C'mon…. Pick up, pick up." He tracked Sam clumsily gathering his clothes and lying them on the bed before folding each one (a Sammy packing ritual).

"Dean?" He heard.

He exhaled slowly in relief before he started talking. "Hey, Bobby. I have a problem."

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! I know that was short… but I wanted to give y'all a little something and this seemed like a decent place to stop! I looked it up and there is a really big Barnes and Noble near San Francisco in Emeryville. It looks really nice but I've never been there… :/

Anyway, do you guys think that Sam should come with Dean or they split up when they get to Emeryville? I could go either way and public opinion is needed to sway me in either direction.

And don't worry, Bobby will cover Dean's ass… for now.

Lastly, before comment replies, I have two announcement-type things.

1\. I wrote another one-shot called "Interpreting the Signs" and it's a Supernatural fic featuring American Sign Language. (If you'd read it I'd send virtual hugs and cookies)

2\. I'm writing… another separate fic. (I won't abandoned this one, don't worry!) So I need names. What would you name character versions of Dean and Cas and Sam? If one of them decided to write a book, that is. (It's another author fic. I can't say I'm sorry) If you think of anything I'd love the help. So much. If not, we're good. That's okay. I understand.

Comment Replies:

Tempermental18- Thanks for reassuring me! And excuse me too, we can fangirl over Dean together! I think I have a love/hate relationship with the writers to be honest, but I am thankful that they've given us some wonderful characters too! Dean actually interacting with the fans will be good and fun and SOON, I promise!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Ah! I'm so insanely happy you like the Willem story… to be honest I named the dragon after my own brother because I was feeling sentimental. I so think it would be hilarious to have fans approach Dean like that too- but realism. I'll try to make it happen though- Dean has four more meet-ups for MG!

Guest (on chapter one)- I think that would be funny too! But Dean would be sooo embarrassed. I feel like he'd triple check before turning in anything to make sure that didn't happen.

Rimeko- Yay, I'm glad you were happy for the extra on that topic! I love writing Willem, I couldn't let go of it after chapter two and I was thinking that I had to be Extra and put it in again. So I did! The fans are coming, don't worry!

Ncsupnatfan- I'm still amazed that anyone likes my poetry, to be honest. Sam and Dean are about to be in for one wild ride, huh? I think the humor of this next arc will be much-needed and appreciated by all, including myself. Also, the bro moments were my favorite to write so I'm happy you enjoyed them!

MicheleChadwick- Poetry in return to my poetry?! I'm really flattered right now, thank you so much! It's so pretty too. So… I have something in return!

O-o-O

I'm an illusion, a pretty apparition

With no place to be or to go

A feeling of welcome, of _home,_ is hard to find

But impossible to ignore.

And in this moment I know

You make me feel solid,

The idea _of_ a _me_ is sprung into life

And for the first time in so long

I feel laughter bubble from a place long forgotten;

Light in my heart again

O-o-O

I'd also like to say thanks for your review on Interpreting the Signs. I'm glad you liked that story. Thank you for reading this one too! I hope you liked this chappie!


	15. Second Guessing

A/N: Hello! So, with public opinion in mind, I decided the boys would split up. Anyway, here's how it plays out!

Happy reading and have a lovely rest of your day! :)

* * *

As Dean was driving down the road, Led Zeppelin crooning, Sammy sleeping, he started to think. Now, this was most definitely not a good thing, because Dean didn't like to overthink things. He liked to let it all roll over his shoulders with an easy smile, not focus on the crap hand he'd been dealt in life.

But he couldn't avoid this topic. He was on his way to San Francisco to talk about a book of poetry- that _he'd_ written, nonetheless- in front of a huge ass crowd. He'd "talked" about the book before with a grand total of four people- Bobby, Jess, Kendra, and Hazel. He could literally count it on _one hand_.

So that's why he couldn't avoid it, because this time tomorrow, he'd be doing probably one of his worst favorite things (behind near death experiences too close for comfort)- being vulnerable in front of large crowds of people.

Kendra had told him to come up with a story of something to tell everyone, but he couldn't think of anything. Normally lying came so naturally that he did it without thinking, but _really_. The people who knew him that intimately through reading Mary's Gold might not be worth lying to. He couldn't pawn off his emotions to dreams or a friend's experience.

Nobody could write with as much feeling and pain in their words as he had if they weren't experienced first hand.

So, he concluded while driving down a deserted highway into the night that he'd have to tell as much of the truth as possible.

Just… minus the monsters and stuff.

As he was pondering how to go about it, Sam groaned and opened his eyes.

"Where are we?" He asked.

"Well," Dean started, "we left Colorado at about six last night, and with how many speeding laws I've been breaking, we're currently in Nevada."

Sam sighed and sunk back into the car's seat. "So that's at least two more hours." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam staring out of the window almost petulantly.

"I just don't get what all the rush is about this damn locket. Why does Bobby need it so urgently? And why did he have to tell _us_ to get it and not someone who was actually in the area?"

 _Of course_ , Dean thought, _there is no locket, but I suppose that's my fault._ Seamlessly, he lied, "Didn't you hear what I said earlier? We're the only ones he trusts with getting it, and it's an important magical artifact that a whole bunch of stupid shits might use for magic they don't understand. And you _know_ I hate witches. I'd do anything to help rid the the world of a few prospective ones."

Wincing at the reminder of that _bitchy, skank-ass coven_ in Florida, Sam conceded defeat.

"Fine. I mean, I just hope we can find it."

 _I just hope we get there on time, or my publicist/editor will kill me._ Dean added miserably in his head. However, instead of divulging _that_ fact, Dean just nodded and noted that the sky was starting to light up the horizon with a promise of sunshine.

* * *

 _Fuck._ Dean thought. It had been a mantra in his head for the past hour.

 _I'm going to be late, how do I ditch Sam? It's seven-oh-two, I'm fucked._

Sam was currently on the phone with Bobby, getting more "details" about their "case," which Bobby had mocked up while they drove.

That being said, Dean was _immensely_ grateful to Bobby for helping him do this, but by the sigh he'd been given, Dean knew the cover wouldn't last forever.

Deciding he'd think about that later, Dean found himself at a loss.

 _What should I do with Sam?_ He thought again. After his brain supplied multiple implausible schemes, he decided to go with the plan he'd titled as Suspicious-But-Simple: tell Sam he wanted to do the research this time.

 _Hopefully he won't check for a fever like he did last time_ , Dean grumpily thought.

His eyes returned to the clock.

7:12

 _Fuck! I swear to God, why is California's traffic so goddamn bad?!_

"Okay Bobby. Thanks for letting me know. Uh huh. Yep. Alright. I'll let you know what we find. Bye." Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at Dean.

"Alright, so Bobby told me that he doesn't have a clear location on the locket. So, that means that we're going to have to split up and look around for it. I was thinking that I can do some more research on it and what it does while you check out some new-age shops and antique places."

 _Oh crap. This is the time where I'm going to have to take the interrogation._

"Actually, Sammy, I think I want to try researching this time around."

Dean was looking at the road, but he knew Sam well enough to know that his eyebrow would be steadily rising right now, and his chin tucked slightly in and to the right.

He really wanted to turn up Zeppelin. Like, he should have done it five minutes ago.

"Dean." Sam's tone was one you'd use with a five-year-old. "You hate researching."

"No shit Boy Wonder. I just happened to hear, on good authority, that-"

"That what Dean? The librarians are prettier than the grannies that run new-age stores?"

Dean smiled. He could do teasing. That was one thing that he would never tire of. "Dude, do you _know_ how much getting your cheeks pinched by those old ladies hurts? They have stronger grip than you'd think through that arthritis."

Sam laughed a second before firing back, "And I heard that chatting up librarians is more of a challenge, since grannies just come too easily to you these days, what with-"

" _Sam!"_ Dean turned to face his brother and slapped him on the arm playfully. "Man, that was too far. You don't say that kinda shit." He shivered. "That's _nasty_ , Sammy." Then, his disgusted expression melted into one of a wicked smirk. "Damn, Sammy, did you get into some shit in Stanford that I didn't know about?"

His brother spluttered and Dean laughed for a minute until his eyes landed on the clock.

7:21

Immediately, with another resounding internal _fuck!,_ the tension returned to his shoulders and his grasp on the steering wheel tightened, his gaze focused once more on the road ahead of him, making sure to weave around as much of the traffic as possible.

Sam had noticed the abrupt shift and stared at him curiously.

"I just think I should do research this time, Sam." He used _that_ tone of voice, the one he did when they were younger and Sam wanted to go with Dean when he was going out but Dean couldn't bring him in fear of his safety (or because he was about to do something illegal).

And, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam bending down in defeat, with the same trust that Sammy had in Dean and his decisions.

It made him feel a little better, but he still knew he'd be cutting it real close to his "convention," so he wasn't completely quelled as he normally would have been.

And yeah, he felt a bit bad about lying to the kid, but there was nothing else he could do. He couldn't tell Sam about _Mary's Gold._ He just wouldn't get it.

 _Yeah, that's totally why._ A part of him called out. _You're not scared of rejection at all._

 _Shut up._ He snarled. _I'll be fine._

And he slowly breathed in and out, letting himself slip back into the Winchester mask of indifference while his mantra continued.

 _Fuck. Please don't let me be late._

* * *

It was eight-oh-two, Dean had just dropped Sam off at the motel they were staying at, and he had a screaming Kendra on his hands.

"-AND SO HELP ME GOD DEAN CAMPBELL IF YOU TELL ME RIGHT NOW THAT YOU ARE NOT COMING I WILL SLIT YOUR THROAT! YOU ABSOLUTE _BASTARD!"_

Dean would admit that Kendra could be scary as fuck when she wanted to be, and her current tone chilled him almost as much as his father's when he told Dean to come aside and _talk._

"Look, I'm sorry. Traffic was bad, I'm on my way. I'll be there quite soon. Ten tops." He adopted the tone he used to quell a teary Sammy to make sure his publicist was soothed.

He could hear her take a large breath in and out over the phone before a harsh whisper came through the phone. "Dean. I like you. You're a good guy, and I went through a lot of trouble to make this event something that you wouldn't completely hate. Make it under seven minutes and I might continue to be nice. Because if I wanted to, I could make you crash and burn. You have. Seven. Minutes."

And God, if Dean didn't step on it, then you could call him mundane.

* * *

At 8:09, he found himself panting and out of breath in front of Kendra's tapping high heels and perfectly applied makeup.

"Dean. Nice to see you." He didn't say anything to her, his stomach churning in fear.

 _What is she going to make me do I can't do this I can't get in front of a crowd and pretend I can't talk about this right now-_

"Dean. Stop thinking so hard. Here, I'll explain what you'll be doing as we walk. Follow me."

He fell in line behind her, simultaneously dreading and craving to hear more about his talk.

"Like I said on the phone, I went through a lot of trouble to make this something you wouldn't kill me over. I've chosen a couple poems for you to talk about, and you can take questions before or after."

Dean had to know. He had to know, so he spoke, shoving down the nervousness in his stomach. "How-" he cleared his throat, "How many people will be there?"

She turned back to him for a moment and her face softened, her painted red lips giving him a sympathetic smile. "Honey. Please calm down. I don't want you to get sick on my shoes, there's only twelve of them and a few have driven out quite far for this event. They all adore you and haven't even met you yet."

Dean let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and let his shoulders slump forward in relief. Twelve people. It was only twelve people. He could do twelve people.

Firmly, block by block, he rebuilt a thin wall around himself and gained some composure. He opened his eyes to see Kendra nodding at him approvingly.

"You're ready." It was a fact. She handed him a copy of _Mary's Gold_ that, presumably, had the poems he was to talk about highlighted and marked.

Then, she opened the door into a conference-room type thing and lead Dean inside.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! I know. I'm terrible with this cliffhanger, but Dean will be fine. (I think). Anywho, let me know what you think!

By the way, thanks so much for your help with the names last time. That other story keeps dragging me around so much. I've changed the plot three different times and now my brain is telling me that I should make the central focus of the plot on Sabriel? Look, I really don't know. Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't. This story is my first priority currently.

Moving on, comment responses!~

Hectatess- Hello! I'm so glad you like the story so far! I can't believe you read it all in one go! Hopefully you got enough sleep to function the next day. I return your greetings all the way from the United States!

MicheleChadwick- Haha, thanks for the name ideas! I really am happy you enjoy what I've written. Gratification shouldn't mean anything because I do this mostly for myself but also- it's quite nice to hear! As for the return poem, no problem. I hope to exchange poems more in the future!

Kathy- I sure am glad to hear you liked it! This version of events is… similar to what you had in mind, but I hope it still lived up to your expectations! As for Bobby, Dean is happy he's playing along, but for how long will he? I guess we'll find out :)

Tempermental18- Ooh, I really like the idea for Dean to write himself as "Sean." Maybe I'll use that somewhere along the line! We should fangirl together some time for real haha!

Ncsupnatfan- Yay, thanks for giving me names galore to think about using! I'm so glad you liked the last chappie as well, with the flow of it and all. And ahh yes, about Sam finding out. For a while I didn't know when it would happen but now I do. As to when, I won't give any other hints besides soon!

Irreality- No need to thank me, for I am but a humble servant to the words in my head. On the other hand, I agreed with you and most of the others for the split up. Dean would want no chance of Sam finding out. As for Bobby, yep! He'll reluctantly cover for Dean… for now!

Tsunamijackson- Yay! I'm so happy you like this story and Writer!Dean- I couldn't resist writing him, myself!

Rimeko- Looks like you wait wasn't too long! Here's the next one for ya. Dean will tell Sam, promise. Just… later?


	16. Opening Up Leads to Validation

A/N: Okay. Look, first thing's first: _**I ABSOLUTELY AM TERRIBLE.**_ I am so sorry for taking this long to update my story. It's been a hectic two months, it really has. My great grandmother passed, I was finishing up the musical I'm in, and school has been stressful. I really didn't have much time to write. BUT no fear, I am back for (hopefully) good! I don't plan on giving up, and I hope none of you do either!

As a sort of peace offering, I have four poems in this chappie. One of them is quite long, too. This chapter is also quite long (for me). If ther are any other questions ya'll have, feel free to ask haha!

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoy, and have a lovely rest of your day! :)

* * *

Dean entered the room, clutching his copy of _Mary's Gold_. He scanned it quickly like he'd been trained. There were windows lining one wall to let sunlight in, a whiteboard was to his back, as well as the end of the room. A conference table sat in the middle, which was fake wood.

Heads turned at his entrance, and huge smiles broke out amongst the people seated around the conference table.

Dean felt Kendra brush past him as he kept his features neutral. He felt a little weirded out at all the people looking so happy to see him, as that was almost never the case.

Kendra then started to speak. "Hello everyone! Sorry we're running slightly behind schedule, but here's the man you've been waiting for, Dean Campbell!"

Then the people… Clapped?

 _Okay, it's official. I'm in some kind of freaky-ass nightmare._

He smiled hesitantly and edged closer to Kendra. "Hello. I'm _excited_ to be here." He turned to Kendra and gave her a look that he shaped as _What the hell is this?_

All she did was usher him into the seat at the head of the table and after he sat, he heard her harsh whisper of, "Just talk. They want to get to know you and hear about the book." She stood and patted his shoulders.

"Alright, I'm going to let you all go at it. Let's introduce ourselves with our names, hometowns, and favorite poem from _Mary's Gold_. I'm Kendra, from Oregon. I'm Dean's publicist, and I was the one who organized this event. We'll go left from here, and our resident author will go last."

She moved to the side and plopped down in the last empty chair beside Dean, to his left.

The next person to speak was a woman that looked about twenty-five. She had serious brown eyes and dark hair that had been gathered in a ponytail.

"My name is Cicely Eadmund, and I drove here from Arizona. My favorite poem was the one about Mary, titled "Gold-Hued Days of Yore." My mother was in the hospital for the longest time when the book came out. One day, while I was seeking refuge from some bad news I'd received- that she only had two weeks to live- I found _Mary's Gold._ That poem has stood out to me ever since, and when she died I read it at her funeral."

Dean had watched in awe as layer by layer, the woman's serious outer shell peeled away, revealing this vulnerable part of her to all the people that occupied the room.

He wondered how she could possibly tell strangers that much about herself willingly, but felt sympathetic about what had happened to her mother.

All the people around the table looked at her and offered, "I'm sorry for your loss." It was an emotional way to start the meeting, but then the next person went, and the one after that and after that.

A woman named Angelica came from Kentucky on a plane and her blonde hair and blue eyes screamed innocence but she spoke of her optimistic brother who served in the army and had PTSD he was still struggling with, but he was getting through it. Her favorite poem was "How do I Tell Him?" a poem Dean had written about Sam.

A man named Bryan came from Northern California and he detailed his fight with depression. His dark brown, almost black irises were ones of empathy and hardship. His favorite poem was "Sink or Drown."

There were more, but as they told him their stories, Dean relaxed and related to each one of them. He found himself nodding and then commenting as time passed, and he didn't see the smile on Kendra's face widen as her approval soared.

But, all too soon, it was his turn to talk. All twelve people turned to face him and he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with all the attention.

"As you all know, my name is Dean W-Campbell. That is, Dean William Campbell, if you wanted to know the specifics. I'm from Kansas, but I travel around a lot with my brother. We have a family business that we run, and it takes us all over. My dad runs it with us, but he travels his own route. I've been training to take my position in the family business for as long as I can remember, and we always moved around a lot when Sammy and I were kids. I don't have a favorite poem of mine, to be honest I thought I wasn't very good for the longest time. It was just a way to destress and let out what I felt. But, I decided to publish one day on a whim and here I am." He shrugged and opened his arms up in a "what can I say?" manner.

They asked him a few questions about Sam and the family business , and Dean skirted around them as much as possible.

Then, Angelica asked him the dreaded question that he was looking forward to the least.

"What was your inspiration for some of these poems? The way you menton monsters is very interesting, and they seem to be a theme through your collection."

Dean sighed. He had a couple different bullshit stories he could tell here, one being that his father had an interest in the occult, the other being that his mother was a religions professor that focused on the otherworldly side of beliefs and he felt closer to her when he researched those topics, so they showed up in his writing, but he told himself to stick to the truth. He was committed to doing so, and he did.

"When I was younger, my dad worked a lot. My brother and I stayed a lot on our own. Sometimes, I had to do less than favorable things to keep us entertained and eating food. When I look back at that time, I can now see that it was unfair of my father to leave me in charge and alone so young, but he was working and I idolized him. The monsters represent the things I had to go through at that time, kind of like internal demons. Relationships I had to end, friends I couldn't make because we'd just move, meals I sacrificed so Sammy could eat. The fact that mom was dead. They just became my own personal hellhounds, and I think that most easily manifested in my writing."

It was quite possibly the most open thing he'd said in his entire life. The fact that he'd just admitted all of that made his skin crawl, but he also felt like crying and laughing and as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He acknowledged the faults of his father, his unfair upbringing, and the fact that it was still affecting him now. He took a shaky breath in and then let it out, looking up to survey the people around him.

It was still surprising, that they were all looking at him attentively, and he saw no leering gazes of superiority that screamed out that he was weak. All he saw was kindness and empathy in their eyes and bodies and it was stunning.

He forgot, sometimes, that there were people that were ordinary citizens that had their own hardships. He thought in terms of monsters and dying and saving lives.  
Most people thought in terms of bills and dates and projects and happiness.

Dean thought it was nice to have ordinary people understand, a little bit, and not to have them look at him in that way that Winchesters were regarded in the hunting world, or the pitying way Sam did sometimes. He could have problems outside of how to kill the next monster, and admitting that to this group of people was… gratifying. Humanizing.

He felt a small smile creep its way onto his face, and when Kendra spoke, he almost missed it.

"Alright. Now that Dean has answered some questions, we're going to have him read your favorite poems and answer questions about them."

Later, Dean found he could not remember the questions he answered, but he did remember the words of his poems flowing over his tongue like liquid gold, his words finally holding resonance and meaning almost like they were the first time he was seeing them. They felt inexplicably _right_ and his audience seemed to share the reverence that he was feeling for his work.

"Golden-Hued Days of Yore" was first, Cicely's favorite.

* * *

 _Mary_

 _Whenever I hear that name_

 _It brings back memories of fairytales_

 _Of golden-glow smiles_

 _And baked apple pies_

 _Of warmth and happiness_

 _Cinnamon and vanilla_

 _Where I felt safe and loved and valued_

 _But Mary_ was

 _And now warmth has been replaced with numbness_

 _But the memories of her_

 _Will always keep their dewy gold hue_

 _As a time simpler and_

 _Better than the rest_

* * *

They applauded him again. Dean felt almost proud, though he was a little embarrassed by the spectacle.

Next came the one Angelica claimed to love, "How Do I Tell Him?"

* * *

 _How do I tell him I'm proud of him?_

 _Almost everything he's ever done_

 _Has made me think of how far he's come_

 _He's not afraid like I am_

 _He sees the good in people_

 _He makes an effort to fit in_

 _He stands up to Dad_

 _I can't; I'm weak_

 _But at least I know that_

 _Giving him the food and_

 _Pushing his schoolwork_

 _Have gotten somewhere_

 _He's trying to get out, I know it_

 _How do I tell him I'm proud of him?_

 _For wanting to step away from Dad_

 _For asserting himself_

 _For being so incredibly kind_

 _For being there for me_

 _I've been his stand-in parent_

 _I've done my best_

 _I've given him everything_

 _I don't do sappy moments,_

 _But he needs to hear it._

 _I'd do anything,_

 _But how do I tell him I'm proud of him?_

* * *

He barely remembered Angelica's tears as she confessed how proud she was of her brother.

"I didn't know what to say, but I showed him this. I think he better understands, now." She confessed.

Then it was Bryan's. "Sink or Drown."

* * *

 _Do you ever feel like sink or swim_

 _Was always sink_

 _And never swim_

 _Because you couldn't swim-_

 _No one ever taught you how._

 _A choice made before a mouth was opened,_

 _A pre-ordained fate that was set in stone_

 _One million years ago_

 _It drags, and it drags, and it drags on_

 _The cement block attached to your foot_

 _Won't help at all;_

 _It's another detriment to you_

 _But you can't even swim anyway_

 _Why did you hope?_

 _You knew it wasn't going to be swim_

 _You can't swim_

 _You can only sink down, down, down into the blue_

 _And curse the fact that you never learned_

 _And will never get a chance to_

* * *

He said that was what depression felt like, sometimes. Sinking or drowning, never swimming- but he reassured everyone that he was learning to reach the surface day by day.

All twelve of the poems Dean read were almost over in an instant, in his memory. The shine of the sun through the window, the compassion in the twelve pairs of eyes looking at him, tears rolling down cheeks as stories were told, laughter as others told anecdotes- they were all little flashes that stayed with him.

Kendra hurried things along toward the end, but Dean didn't want it to end, in a way. That sick feeling that he felt upon entering the room was only a distant memory, and he felt as if he was closer to these people than anyone else in a long time.

They all got his email on the way out, and he encouraged them to write to him with any other questions.

Kendra smiled at him. "That went well. I knew it would." She chatted to him about a few other things, but Dean wasn't listening. He was lost in his own head, words swirling about and starting to form. He felt validated. It was a new feeling.

"Do you have any paper?" He asked Kendra, interrupting her sentence.

"Yes, I have this pad right here, why?"

"I need to write something. Now." She nodded and tore off the most recent page, and he took a pencil out of his pocket and started scratching away.

* * *

 _I wonder why I can feel so alone_

 _When there are so many people on this planet._

 _There are double standards that are set up in my mind_

 _For me, and me alone._

 _If someone was asking for help or advice_

 _I'd give it to them without a second thought_

 _But if I was the one to ask,_

 _Then nobody would care, right?_

 _Why am I the exception?_

 _I instinctively care right away_

 _A life is a life_

 _And each person has a story_

 _Each word carefully chosen or blurted free_

 _With meaning and for a reason_

 _Why can't I see that I matter like that too?_

 _Why can't I see that people would do the same for me?_

 _Why am I the exception?_

 _When I tell someone I liked what they've done,_

 _It's small-_

 _It's a drop splattering into the ocean_

 _But receiving that drop_

 _Is sweet validation_

 _And for some reason,_

 _I feel like I'd be left_

 _Withering away of dehydration, if_

 _I were to share_

 _Because nobody cares_

 _About me._

 _But I would give out_

 _Those words for free,_

 _And to any who've touched me._

 _Why am I the exception?_

 _My brain twists things around my head_

 _And I am always the molding bread in the corner_

 _Instead of the fresh baked loaf_

 _Sitting on the counter._

 _I am never the winner of the prize_

 _Just the unnamed loser bowing in resignation_

 _Whose skills aren't quite there._

 _But I am more than what my brain tells me,_

 _And when a drop of water falls my way,_

 _I can see that I am not an exception_

 _And that the kindness of humanity,_

 _Or at least those who took time to tell me their thoughts,_

 _Have given me a sweet, blissful rain_

 _And so I see_

 _I am only the exception to myself._

* * *

 _I am only the exception to myself._ Dean thought again. _How relevant_.

"Dean. I'm glad this was good, and it was apparently inspiring for you. Your next one of these is in a few months, I'll call you again when it's near, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, sounds fine." He dismissed her.

"See you, then." She smiled and waved before taking off.

Dean folded up the paper and put it in his pocket, taking his phone out instead.

Looking down at it, he saw Bobby's name come up at the top.

All the sudden, the feeling of worth growing in his chest was extinguished like a fire being deprived of air. Though he'd made it through the conference, now he had to bullshit his way through the locket that Bobby "wanted them to find."

He groaned. Sammy was much better at reading him than strangers, and he was going to have to weave some serious lies if this was going to be pulled off seamlessly.

 _I am not looking forward to this._ He inhaled sharply, remembering something else, too.

 _Fuck, and I said I was going to do the research this time! Shit. I have nothing._

He exhaled slowly. The next two hours were going to be _fun._

* * *

A/N: This chappie is 2,581 words. I'm proud of it. Let me know, as always, what you think of this chapter! I hope it's not too eh. I haven't written anything, really, since last chapter (I wrote 85% of this tonight after watching an inspiring movie about writing. I realized I missed WTE, and came back to y'all.)

I HAVE A QUESTION- do you think I should detail the stuff about the locket, or not? I can, but you yall find it interesting or not?

I doubt y'all remember way you said in your last comments, but I'm going to reply anyway because I love doing it :)

Tsunamijackson- Yes, convention! Yay! I hope this was a good balance between awkward Dean and him opening up. I tried not to force him to, but he seemed willing, so woohoo!

Kathy- You're so welcome for me continuing this! I'm glad you continue to like it! Let's hope this convention was satisfying for you!

Hectatess- You are so right. Dean did not want to be there. But I think it was a good experience for him, especially after he relaxed. And about the locket… We'll see. Dean still doesn't really know what he's looking for anyway. The poor boy still has to do research on top of his convention!

Rimeko- Yes… it really wasn't fair of me to leave all of you with that cliffhanger for two months, was it? Sorry. And yeah, it's odd that he's scared of regular people when he faces ghosts and monsters, huh? I never really thought of that, but I suppose hunting is normal to him, so actual ordinary stuff scares him? I dunno.

Tempermental18- Honestly, you flatter me too much. I hope you liked this! Now that I'm free(er) I might actually be able to fangirl… I hope to hold a session with you soon!

Katy- Woohoo! I'm glad you enjoyed WTE! Thanks for the poem love, I appreciate it lots :) Hope this was a good listen in on the talk!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- I missed your review on the last chappie, but it's okay! I'm glad you're still enjoying it all and your reviews always bring a smile to my face because of the sheer enthusiasm you have for my work. I think it's more than my own enthusiasm, sometimes! I hope the last two months weren't filled with too much anticipation… that would be awful and I really am sorry about the wait time on this one. It won't happen this far apart again!

Purple- This is one of your favorites? Oh my. I'm blushing a little bit over here. I still don't think what I'm doing is revolutionary by any means, but I'm glad you find it different enough to catch your interest. Thank you for your kind words!

MicheleChadwick- *shudders* I'm not so evil to make all of the people at Dean's convention demons. That would suck so much. Also, at this point, I remember them saying that demons don't come out often… Only about seven possessions happened at that point per year or something, I think. (Don't quote me, it's just what I remember.) Twelve would be outrageous, and all gathered in the same spot? Unheard of. Like you said, I'm just not that sadistic. I hope these poems were enjoyable!


	17. Research and Lockets and BS, oh my!

A/N: Well, last time I promised the wait wouldn't be as long as before, and technically I didn't lie. One month is shorter than two! (I'm still terrible, sorry!) No poems this time, but lots of Dean actually thinking about things, which he neglects to do very often.

Oh! Side note- even though I didn't write too much, I did draw a nice cover for this fic. Let me know what you think of it, yeah?

Enough of me yapping. You've waited long enough!

Happy reading and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day!

* * *

Last time on WTE: Dean went to his convention and had a grand 'ol time. He gave out his email at the end and wrote a poem about being the exception. He felt a kinship with those there, it was the best time he'd had in ages, and it was all goin' good 'til he remembered that he needed to do research about that darned locket that Bobby scrounged up for him. Ah, what a double-edged sword!

* * *

Wearily, Dean pulled the Impala up into the parking lot of the motel he and Sam were staying at and parked before glancing at the folder in the seat next to him. He opened it again, looking at its contents.

Dean received some information from Bobby while he was out, more details on the locket and its origins. It was called the Locket of Aljana, and the woman who'd made it was a very powerful witch who wanted to find a way to impart her powers onto another person who might not have magical skill. Somehow, she was successful, _through some of that witchy bullshit_ , Dean thought.

And so, now the locket was used as a power-up for pre-existing witches as well as a way for a non-magical person to cast weak spells.

Dean had found out through his limited research, though, that the locket held some of her intent as well, and more power was given to those who used hurtful spells, as Aljana was a vengeful woman (or so he- or, rather, Bobby- had read) whose specialty lied in revenge against traitorous friends.

There were a couple of cases he'd read through that Bobby had given him to follow, and from there he found a trail of crimes that involved the locket. Unfortunately, the trail had vanished around seven years ago, and here they were on a possible tip that Bobby had received. He explained that he wouldn't have followed through with it, but since Dean needed an excuse, they might as well look for it.

He flicked the folder shut, now satisfied that he could bullshit his way through Sam with only minor inconvenience. And, glancing at the clock, he realized that it'd only been two additional hours for him to pull this all together.

So, feeling pretty good about the whole ordeal, and with the successful conference there to buffer his mood, Dean got out of the car and entered the motel room.

He saw his brother deeply engrossed on something at the computer, its light shining on his face, which was way too close to the screen, in his opinion. _You're gonna wear your eyes out, stupid bitch,_ he thought half exasperated and half fond. He rolled his eyes before calling out a greeting.

"Sammy." He flicked his brother a salute and tossed the folder on one of the beds. "How'd picking up old ladies go?"

This was enough to shock Sam out of his reverie, who startled for a moment, his eyes wide as he looked up at Dean.

"O-oh. It was fine," he stuttered.

Dean narrowed his eyes and cocked his head a bit, "You sure? None of them tried to grab you with their arthritis hands?"

Sam huffed a little bit and rolled his eyes, but answered, "No, Dean," before shifting into focus mode and shutting the laptop on his lap. "So, lay it on me. What'd you find?"

He and Sam exchanged information, in which he learned that Sam had a whole bunch of dead ends in finding the locket at any shops around town. Sam told Dean that someone else probably had it. Everything was going smooth until Sam asked, "Dean, what took you so long anyway? When I'm out for," he glanced at the clock, "five hours, I normally find about three times this much. Even you don't work at a pace that slow. You should have been here earlier."

Dean huffed, a little bit of panic creeping into the back of his mind. "Wow, sorry Sammy, didn't know I had a quota to fill. The library was organized like shit, okay? Took me longer to find stuff than I thought. And this pattern took a bit to figure out too. I mean, it's not necessarily easy to infer that these people all killed a close friend turned enemy. And then there are the ten-year gaps in which there are no crimes to be spoken of with the locket! Bobby only gave me so much to work with-"

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Damn it, that's like the third time I said your name. Just shut up, will you?" Sam glared at Dean for a minute before turning his head away to face the window.

He began a moment after, his voice softer and more careful. "It's just… you were acting weird this morning. I wanted to make sure…"

Normally, Dean would have snapped at Sam for making such a comment, but he felt a little stupid for the babble that'd just escaped his mouth, so he was going to let Sam have his little chick-slip. "I'm _fine,_ bitch. Now stop being such a chick. We have work to do, lockets to find."

Sam looked back at him, studying his eyes for a moment then agreeing, "Fine, jerk. But just one locket as of now."

And so they were able to do their thing without any other mention of Dean's lateness or Sam's worry, setting off to do more driving and searching through police records this time instead of library ones.

However, while they continued their search, Dean could tell that Sam was worried more than he let on through the careful measuring glances at Dean and the way he was stepping around him and being more quiet and thoughtful than usual. Thankfully, no comments were made, but he could tell it wouldn't be long until another attempt was made to try and uncover what was going on with him.

And that thought made Dean's stomach roll over just a little bit. He did not want Sam in the know about his book. Even worse, if Sam ever read it, Dean mused that he would probably die, and for multiple reasons.

He didn't want to think about it, really. Dean always had a way of not thinking about things he didn't want to even when they were quite pressing. But, his day had been one of reflection and connection, a rare happy spot in the middle of a normally blood-and guts life. He'd uncovered his insecurities to thirteen people, if he included Kendra, and he felt a bit lighter than before.

Not that he felt one hundred percent okay- the last time he'd felt that was so long ago he couldn't even place it- but he'd say he probably went from sixty percent okay to about seventy-five. It was an improvement.

And because of that upheaval, he was emotionally exhausted and his barriers were low. So, with it swinging there above his head, he zoned out on research and focused on his feelings for once.

He admitted that he was scared. More scared than anything else. If Sam saw the book, he'd think Dean was weak, which he _was,_ but Sam held him in this light that few others did, the one of a little brother thinking that his older sibling was a superhero. And, though Dean knew that light had changed over the years, it still had the same warm undertones it'd had when they were kids, that Dean could do anything and that he was invincible: Sam's leader, rock, and literally his partner-in-crime.

If Sam read the book, the dark corners of Dean's mind pushed the inklings of doubt he held that Sam would uncover who he really was, turn off the hero mindset and see him as a weak, pathetic monster that killed things and was tortured and hated their father though Sam thought he was the one most loyal. The one that blamed himself for everything, and rightfully so because everything bad that happened _was_ his fault. The one that drank to forget, slept with girls to ease the pain, the one that hid from the world through a mask of confidence and swagger when all he felt was nothing but a paradoxical longing for and fear of death, stopped only by the duty he held to keeping Sam safe.

There was a voice in his head, though, that was from the small pool of validation he'd received, that spoke up.

 _What if he reads it and doesn't hate you?_

And, Dean couldn't answer that question. He'd just never thought of it as a possibility, what with the rest of his feas strutting about owning the place.

If Sam didn't hate him after reading it, what else might he feel?

 _Pity,_ the darkness offered, _because of your weakness._

 _Compassion,_ the pool countered, _because he is your brother and might understand._

 _Anger,_ the darkness argued, louder this time, _because you've kept too many secrets from him._

 _Understanding,_ the pool intoned fiercely, _as he know what it is like to get fed up and run._

 _Contempt, because he had enough courage to get out and you didn't._ The darkness battled, even louder than before.

 _Humbleness, because you had the strength to stay and face all that for him!_ The pool yowled so fiercely that Dean winced, cringing his face away from the documents in front of him.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was full of that careful concern again, and Dean smiled at him unconvincingly.

"I'm good. This was just a particularly nasty case," he glanced down. "Mom went psycho and baked death brownies for the PSA meeting and…" he made a face and waved his hand to signify a dastardly death.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "And you're just now mentioning it? That could be a lead! Let me see!"

Dean handed the file over and let Sam scan it while his head continued its argument, but softer.

 _You should try,_ the pool tried to convince him.

But, the darkness knew its way around Dean's head better. _It's useless. He'll throw you away faster than a cigarette on the ground. Who knows? Maybe he'll agree with what Dad did to you._

The pool did not like that thought at all. _No way! Sam is the most sensitive person ever. He's kind and he cares about you more than anyone else that's alive right now. He won't ditch you. Consider it?_

Dean felt himself wanting to believe, wanting to try, wanting for there to be a solution.

 _Yes._ He felt himself thinking. _I'll consider._

Then he summed up the strength to block out his mental war and focus on what Sam was blubbering.

"The woman who did this was Helen Tracy, and her PTA meeting had twelve people come to it. I'll take the first six and you take the second six to see if they went to school together or something. We can do interviews if we need to…"

Dean felt himself nod. "Sounds good, Sammy." Then he got to work like he was supposed to, with a better feeling on his shoulders than before.

* * *

After a week, they found nothing concrete on the locket; Dean, Sam, and Bobby all reluctantly agreed that maybe they should give up.

Sam, of course, was a little bit frustrated with this turn of events, but Bobby assured him that he'd keep it in an active case file. However, he'd need the new stuff Dean found while they were in California.

"How about you two come one down here?" Bobby offered. "I haven't seen you in a while, Dean. Not to mention, the last time I saw Sam he was below my shoulder."

Dean thought about this for a minute, and though he knew it was going to be a bad idea, he heard the words slip out of his mouth: "Sure. Sounds like a plan."

And, before he knew it, he was in the Impala with his brother, driving to Bobby's, all the while his mind whispering about all the things that could go wrong with the person that knew about _Mary's Gold_ and the one that didn't in the same house together.

* * *

A/N: Hello! I hope that was pretty good for the wait! Honestly, I didn't know the Winchesters were going to go to Bobby's until they called him and my nice little fingers just typed it up. Looks like I'm going to have to do some thinking about what's going to happen next, cuz that was not the direction I thought I was going!

Got ideas? I don't! If you do, feel free to share with me :)

Also, I know I say this too much, but let me know if Dean is OOC. I feel it _**again.**_ He never sits still to let me write him, ever.

On another note, I just wanted to note that many of you guys felt a connection to the last poem I wrote for Dean, which is titled "Validation is like the sweet rain on my skin." It's a poem that I wrote originally in July of 2016, not for this fanfic. Meaning, I wrote it about myself. I just wanted to say that I have so fully loved the rain each and every one of you has given me, and if you ever need a rain of your own, feel free to come and invite me to read your stories or listen to your ideas, as I know what it feels like to think you're underappreciated when so you want to share your work, but you're too scared to share with anyone because of the fear of rejection. I promise that I'm very nice and will help in any capacity I can. I thank you again for reading and reviewing from the bottom of my heart. You guys are the reason I'm still writing this!

And now: Comment Responses!~

MicheleChadwick- Ah! Thank you! *cups hands in front of self to catch the drop thrown* I agree that Dean sort of needed that, and I think it buffered him for this sort of mental stewing that he so rarely partakes in. I'm always humbled by your praise, it means the world!

Rimeko- I'm so happy you liked "Sink or Drown." It was one I wrote on a whim and it felt so perfectly Dean that I had to include it last chapter. I totally remember the quote about Dean getting monsters better than people, now that you mention it! And yeah, I suppose he did show that through my chapter which, woohoo! Means Dean's not too out of character, which I'm always afraid he is when I write him. Though more description on the locket wasn't what you wanted, I hope it's not too boring!

Scarlett- Hello! I am deeply humbled by you saying this fic is your favorite. I am so glad you're inspired by it and I am very happy to hear that you think I've stayed on track character-wise. I hope this chapter has continued your good feelings about this story! And, thank you for your wonderful words of encouragement!

Jennytork- Thank you. (((RETURN HUG))) I'm glad the last one was worth the wait, and I hope the same thing can be said about this one! I'm totally working on getting all I can into Sammy's hands. And when he does find out? It will be glorious.

Hectatess- I think those two worlds Dean is balancing might crash sooner than he thinks, but no promises!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Literally everytime I post a new chapter I wait for your review and them promptly smile everytime I read it. Thank you for your words of encouragement! I'm glad you liked all the poems in the last one, and I too relate to Dean's last poem, seeing as I wrote it for myself. You're awesome and thank you again for your continued support! :D

Spica M- Hello! Oh dear, reading your little letter was so smile-inducing that I think I was floating for the next half an hour after I saw it in my inbox. I think I did a little happy dance when you said my Dean was "so cannon it hurts." I try so hard with him, and every time I feel like he's too emotional, too broken, too whiny, too brusk, too wallowy, too spazzy. I can never pin him down, and to know that you think I did is amazing. I'm so happy you've enjoyed WTE so far, and I hope that this chappie continues with the good stuff. Your words mean the world!

Tempermental18- Somehow I doubt it when you say I'm not terrible, because I really am. It's been another month. And, I've been so busy that I forgot about fangirling! What a shame. But hey, It's almost summer and with that I might be able to spare some time. Anywho, I'm glad you enjoyed the last one and hope this one is just as good!

Ncsupnatfan- Woohoo! Glad ya liked the poems in the last two ones. Hopefully the locket stuff wasn't too much, but I tried to focus on Dean a little more, and just enough locket to satisfy Sam. As I've been writing these replies, I have some ideas swirling about for when Sam and Bobby get together… I think Dean is going to be hard pressed to keep secrets for much longer.

Purple- Hey! Nice to hear from you again! :) I'm stewing on ideas about Sammy finding out. We'll see how it goes, but he's definitely getting suspicious. And I'm glad ya liked the last one, hopefully this one is on the same page!

Tsunamijackson- Thanks for your understanding about my absence! I'm glad you can make an exception for my free-verse, which is my favorite branch of poetry, actually. It lets me express myself without too many restrictions, which is why I think Dean likes it too. It's no rules- just the author, paper, and pen(cil). You're very welcome for writer!Dean- he's one of my favorites too!


	18. On Your Tail

A/N: Ya'll probably expect me being late by now, but I'm still sorry about how long this took.

Anyway, this one's in Sam's POV, so cheers to that!

Now here we got, and happy reading and have a lovely rest of your day!

* * *

Last time on WTE: Dean pulled some bullshit on Sam for the locket case, which ended up being a dead end. Dean also had an internal debate about letting Sam read MG, and he grapples with the idea that Sam *gasp* _won't hate him if he reads it._ What a novel concept, eh Dean? (pun not intended). Then, they call up Bobby and Dean finds himself somehow buying two one way tickets to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

* * *

Sam Winchester was smart.

He'd been told this all through his childhood, by teachers, mentors, friends, his brother, and even his father on occasion. And because of his abilities in deduction, he'd noticed some discrepancies in the way his brother acted.

It was odd. Sam remembered Dean being much more sullen than he was now. This Dean liked to joke and he was so very gentle with Sam.

It was different, but not bad. Sam actually liked the change in Dean, but he had no idea where it came from, only that it had happened while he was away in college. He didn't expect Dean to help him as much as he had with Jess's passing, he didn't expect the space and the music he liked being played, and the revival of Willem the Dragon. But they existed, they'd happened. And Sam still was trying to figure out why.

Then there was how Dean had been acting more recently. On the long drive over to Bobby's, Dean had been unusually quiet. He blasted his terrible mullet rock still, but he didn't partake in the awful headbanging and sing-yelling he usually loved to torture Sam with. And there was a tension about him that had been present ever since Bobby called them about the Locket of Aljana, which resulted in them leaving the other case in Colorado.

Sam didn't want to take any more risks asking him about it, because Dean had clamped up the past few times he asked. Just in case, though, Sam had made sure to sidestep a little more around his brother than usual. You know, as a _natural_ response to the extra tension.

And he decided to leave it for a bit longer. They were almost to Bobby's- _And who knows, maybe_ he _has some answers,_ Sam hoped.

* * *

Upon their arrival at the old and slightly decrepit house that Bobby occupied, Sam felt a swirl of memories encompass him: of sweet lemonade, car grease, playing catch, carefree afternoons with Dean, and hours upon hours of reading old, dusty books. He felt himself smile a little bit at it all rushing back.

Then he saw the man himself. It was like he hadn't aged a day since Sam last saw him, the same baseball cap and gruff features that somehow made a welcoming smile at the sight of the Impala driving up the gravel road, greeting them again.

Sam let out a huff of disbelief and choked out, "Yanno, I'm actually kind glad to be back here."

Dean only hummed a response before turning the car off and stepping out to greet Bobby.

Sam noted the odd behavior, but given the way Dean had been acting lately, he didn't comment and instead joined Dean in greeting a man he hadn't seen in years.

"Dean! Nice to see you again!" Sam heard while stepping onto the gravel road. And I got mail for you too, just so you know. Get your stuff and come in."

Sam shuffled nervously by the car, waiting to be acknowledged

Finally, Bobby looked at him, eyes scanning Sam up and down. He stood there for a moment, unsure about the reaction he'd receive until he heard, "So are you going to stand there all day or what, Sam?"

And from there, it was like he was seven again, running- or, you know, walking at a reasonable pace- to Bobby and giving him a hug. _He still smells like beer and gunpowder._ Sam thought while Bobby thumped him on the back and chuckled.

"It's good to see you too, Sam."

He let a smile grace his features and he pulled out of the hug and replied with, "When I last saw you, it was through the back window of the Impala, I was fourteen, and I thought I'd never see you again." He brushed non-existent dirt off his shoulder self-consciously. "Cut me some slack."

"Alright Princess Samantha Feelings, let's get this show on the road." Dean laughed and walked back to where Sam and Bobby were standing from the Impala, the bags he'd collected on his shoulders.

Sam turned sharply, a little started, but when he did, all he could focus on was the lightness in Dean's walk. The steps were swinging and easy, and his smile looked beaming and relaxed. It was like the tension that Sam had noticed from the past few days had melted away here at Bobby's.

 _Maybe it_ is _Bobby, and he talked some sense into Dean while I was gone._

He pictured Dean being mad at his father for some reason and going off on his own while taking a break from hunting, then doing something stupid like having the Impala towed before calling Bobby half hungover to come pick him up, because he was still mad at Dad and Pastor Jim was too far away. He imagined Bobby sighing but coming anyway and once Dean had sobered up, a stern talking-to being given which somehow magically solved some of Dean's issues?

 _Well, the theory needs a little more work,_ he admitted to himself before coming back to the present.

"Shut up Dean. And it's _Sam."_ He sent Dean a mild bitchface, but his brother only winked as he walked past, his shit-eating grin growing as he did so.

Sam only sighed before shrugging to Bobby and grabbing the bag Dean dropped at his feet to carry inside.

* * *

It was only after a dinner and light conversation that gave Sam the opportunity to corner Bobby about what had happened to Dean.

Sam made sure to wait until he could hear the water running through the pipes for Dean's shower, as he normally could hear them if he was right below the upstairs bathroom (where the living room couch was quite conveniently placed).

Sam cleared his throat, finally summoning the will necessary to talk to Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby?" He called.

Bobby looked up from some research or something to look at him. "Yeah Sam?"

Sam sighed. "I want to ask you a few questions… and, well… it's about Dean."

Bobby just raised an eyebrow that looked like he was saying _Go on, boy. I ain't got all night._

"He's been acting odd lately. And I wanted to know if you knew anything about it. He's been so tense and we were joking in the car when he all the sudden just snapped at me, I don't know why. Then _he_ wanted to do the research on our last case, the one you gave us, and he took way too long as it was. Then he was so quiet on the way over here… Bobby I'm kinda worried about him. What's going on?"

Now it was Bobby's turn to sigh, and he shook his head softly before looking up and mumbling something that didn't sound or look (Sam could read lips since the age of twelve) like English.

When he was done, Bobby replied, "Look Sam. Dean just has some stuff going on. There'll be times when he's like that, but have you noticed anything else about him?"

Sam tried to think for a moment, going over recent events with Dean, looking for oddities again.

Then the force of it hit him, thought he'd figured it out a while ago, it seemed so big.

Small snippets flew through his brain as he rejoiced. Dean sung loudly. Dean cared for Sam in the months after Jess. Dean instigated a prank war, Dean didn't drink much, Dean had money on hand. And Dean's eyes had a certain spark to them these days, one he only saw a few different times when they were kids, and most of them were here in this house.

"He's… he _is_ happier. Yeah, I noticed." The wonder was apparent in Sam's voice, and he looked over at Bobby.

There was a wry smile on his face, and in his eyes Sam saw something he couldn't discern in Bobby's eyes.

"He's doing better, but he still gets stressed out sometimes, Sam, okay?"

Sam nodded, but he didn't really understand. _How could Dean be stressed about getting better? And why won't Bobby tell me what it is that he's doing to help anyway?_

"Sam." Bobby's voice cut through his thoughts. "Please, don't go asking Dean about this. He'll talk to you when he's ready. You know how he deals with his problems, that idjit. Just leave it for now."

Sam could see the reason behind this, so he found himself agreeing and then promptly shutting up when he heard the water cutting out.

* * *

But it didn't end there, especially in Sam's mind.

It was dark outside, and Sam and Dean were in the room with two double beds that was claimed "theirs" when they used to frequent this house. Sam could hear Dean softly snoring in the bed next to him, but his mind was still turning, and he couldn't seem to go to sleep.

He just couldn't get it.

 _What does Dean do?_

He was _Sam freakin' Winchester_ , Fabled Researcher of All Kinds, Dean Winchester Expert. But, for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out.

It's not even like there were options, everything Sam came up with was farfetched and something his brother would never do, like the thought that he went to a therapist and had a journal.

 _Yeah, fuck no. That's not Dean's style at all, I think he'd spontaneously combust before he ever, ever talked to a therapist and wrote his feelings in what he'd call a "girly diary" of his own free will._

And so, Sam tossed and turned, wondering what the hell Dean could have done for fulfillment.

* * *

Two days later, Sam found a situation that called him back to his therapist and journal theory.

It was two in the morning, and he woke up sweating and breathless, the echoes of Jess' pained screams ringing in his ears. It had been a few weeks since he'd had such a bad nightmare, and Sam was a little shaken.

He got up out of bed and noticed that Dean's was empty, sheets crumpled like his night had gone similar to Sam's. He pursed his lips at the sight, wishing that he and his brother could just be okay for once, not so screwed up, and shook his head minutely.

Still, as a force of habit, he went downstairs to get a cup of hot chocolate (or at the least, warm water) before returning to bed. _Who knows, maybe Dean will have extra._

As he quietly made his way down Bobby's slightly creaky stairs, Sam saw Dean hunched over something that was sitting on the table in front of him. At first, he thought Dean was reading something until he got close enough to hear the scratch of a pencil.

 _Dean's_ writing? _Why would he do that at two AM?_

Then Sam noticed something else. Dean wasn't casually, leisurely writing like Sam had seen him do for homework assignments in school or even research on a hunt.

Dean was writing like a man possessed, like he had to get everything he could on that paper before he forgot it all or died or something. Sam had never seen his brother do something so intently besides hunt and flirt, and he could only see from the back.

He pressed himself into the shadows of the staircase, wanting to figure this out. It seemed like a piece he needed in his puzzle, but he didn't have all of them yet. He watched as his brother scribbled for about a minute more before he heard the clattering of a pencil being dropped and a sigh. He could tell that Dean had just gone through some emotional upheaval just through that sigh, as it was so deep and long and his posture relaxed significantly.

 _Like he just wrote a journal entry...?_ Sam's mind theorized.

Then there was some rustling paper before Sam saw a folded paper make its way to Dean's coat pocket.

 _That must be what he was writing on. I have to see it!_

Quietly, Sam crept up the stairs before coming back down, albeit a bit more loudly.

He made a show of rubbing his eyes on the way down too, but only enough to sell it and not go overboard. Channeling how he felt right after the dream and pushing any thoughts about Dean's coping mechanisms to the back of his head, his expression morphed into a mode of distress. It wasn't _fake,_ but Sam could have shoved it away if he'd wanted. Instead, he was bringing it to the forefront so that Dean wouldn't be suspicious of his descent from the stairs at this hour.

"Sammy?" He heard. "What's goin' on?"

Sam looked up from the floor to see his brother's face scrunched in worry. He'd obviously turned to face the staircase to see who was coming down.

Sam offered a wry smile. "Nothing much, just another nightmare."

He felt sympathy emanate from his brother's eyes as his face relaxed a little bit in recognition.

"You want me to do anything?" He asked, but didn't give Sam a chance to answer before telling him, "I was just about to whip up some hot chocolate, I'll get you some too."

And Sam felt himself relax in the easy routine of two am ramblings with both brothers avoiding the topics they rather wouldn't discuss. With the comfort of routine and sleep, Sam found himself pushing off reading the paper until tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: Sammoose is getting closer ;)

As usual, I hope ya liked this and no promises on when the next part will come but I promise it won't be as long. I will chain myself to the computer if need be, promise.

I have ideas, but hey if you have some or any predictions you'd like to share, be my guest! Also, let me know about how I captured/didn't capture Sammy, we'll be seeing more of him next time :)

Comment responses:

MicheleChadwick- Apparently your proclamation of me updating sooner was too bold. Well, at least you have this! Woohoo, happy I'm doing well with Dean to you, who I never feel like is 100% there with me. I really want Dean to keep in contact with the poem people, so I'll find a way to keep them there. Also, I 10/10 see where you're coming from with the whole fic writer thing. There's not many people who know I _read_ fanfiction in real life, let alone write it.

Jennytork- I hope I'm not stretching when I ask if this one was worth the wait aha! I'll check out your stories soon, when I have some time for an epic or two!

Scoutbokmal- I'm glad ya like it! I'd love to read some of your poetry, feel free to send me some anytime! As for you AO3 works, I'll head over there sometime and check it out, I'm sure they're wonderful :D

Rimeko- Yes! Glad the locket was alright. Sam will read MG soon, as you can see, I'm working up to it.

Ncsupnatfan- Yep, there's not much longer until Sam ~finds out~! Thanks for your wonderful ideas and I hope this was a decent choice, but there's more in store.

Tempermental18- Woohoo! Hope this keeps living up to expectations. How about this- you contact me for fangirling, because lord knows I'd like to but I keep forgetting!

Spica M- Your thoughts are much appreciated, and they always clue me into some things I neglect to think about. You're right, of course Jess would mention MG to Dean… see this is why I love reviews right here. I suppose I'll need to work that in somehow, thanks for keeping me on my toes! And yes, I agree. Bobby is amazing and we don't deserve him at all haha (But the Winchester boys do… I'm glad they have him).

Scarlett- It's really nice to hear from you again! Glad you like WTE still and I hope to continue that as time passes (though I'm still not sure it's worthy of being your favorite, but I'm honored all the same). My luck ran out a little, but hey! Whatever, it's coming back a bit. Hope the wait wasn't too bad!

Tsunamijackson- Thanks for the poetry compliments! Rhyme schemes are fun when you're looking for a challenge, but as I said before, I write when I'm emotional and it means I don't have the patience to make everything rhyme and have meter. But occasionally, I like to do that stuff just so I can have hidden depths to what I'm writing, as sometimes heat of the moment poetry is emotionally charged but lacking in hidden layers.

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- Life got a but busy for me too, as you can see with the month-and-a-half gap between updates. There's no excuses, really, but I'm glad I'm not the only one. I'm glad Dean's staying in plausible Dean-like behavior, as he's pretty wild and jumping all over the place in my head. Yeah! I'm glad we have a cycle of happiness that keeps both of us satisfied and smiling so yippee for us!

Hey- I suppose this update was soon-ish for you, yeah? Haha, well thank you so much for reading this hunk of garbled thoughts and poetry that somehow made it way further than I thought it ever could or would. I appreciate it very much. And I'm glad I could (somehow) sway you to the dark side of free verse poetry! Woohoo! (We might not have cookies, but I hope this chappie is enough to keep you here!)


	19. Rambles and In Shambles

A/N: Hey guys! Time for another timeline update, as this story is meant to run along with cannon! I want yall to have an idea of what's going on around the boys, as I'm giving you very isolated moments of writing and plot stuff, but that's not all! These guys are busy offscreen of my 'verse.

There's some unaccounted time in SPN's season one that I'm taking the liberty of filling and using here with my 'verse. I took most of this from hells_half_acre on LiveJournal, if you wanna know where the dates are from. Last we heard (as far as time goes) was Jess' death on Halloween, 2005, so I'll illustrate where we are after that. The unaccounted space I'm filling is from December 5th 2005 to Feb 28th 2006.

2005:

November 10th-14th - Sam and Dean arrive in Lost Creek, Colorado, and hunt a Wendigo after spending one week in Palo Alto because of Jess' death.

Late November - Sam and Dean spend 5 days investigating Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, where people keep ending up Dead in the Water.

December 2nd-5th - Sam and Dean investigate the Phantom Traveler at various airports.

December 10th-17th - Sam and Dean spend 5-7 days investigating Bloody Mary in Toledo, Ohio with a side trip to Fort Wayne, Indiana. (this isn't the actual date, as one was never given, but it's where I start inserting/taking creative license, just so you know)

December 20-23 - Sam is sick and Dean tells him a Willem the Dragon story

2006:

January 5th-7th - S&D are caught up in a problematic salt 'n burn in Colorado

January 7th - Kendra calls Dean about the Emeryville meeting

January 9th - Dean's MG meeting at 8:00 am

January 9-16 - Locket case

Jan 16-17 - Drive to Bobby's

Jan 19 - at about 7:30 pm, this chappie starts ;)

Sorry about how short this is, but what's below is all that would come out. Have a lovely rest of your day and I hope my North America buddies got a decent view of the eclipse!

* * *

Last Time on WTE: Sam wonders what is up with Dean. He talks to Bobby about it, realizes Dean is happier, and wants to find out why. He sees Dean writing on a paper and decides to later take said paper and read its contents.

* * *

Sam was nervous. He held a small piece of paper in his hand, a scrap really, but it would hold all the secrets he had been consciously looking for for the past week and a half.

Sam's fingers trembled as he unfolded it slowly until he could see faint pen strokes through the thin, lined paper.

 _Do I_ want _to know?_ He asked himself, still unsure about going behind his big brother's back, something he seldom did.

His mind flashed to conning Dean and Bobby into going drinking without him. It hadn't been hard, he just played up the shit-all amount of sleep he'd gotten and protested a headache.

Then, while he went up to the room to "rest" he stole the slip of paper from Dean's jacket pocket and hid it in his own. Dean came up to grab his jacket before leaving with Bobby, and Sam was now alone.

It had been too easy, and Sam was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He figured it might be the inside of the paper in his hands that held the shitstorm he was expecting.

Stubbornly and deliberately, he unfolded the paper. _I have to know._

* * *

 _Sometimes I lie in heartbreak_

 _Dreaming of another life-_

 _One of happiness and smiles and freedom-_

 _But I know it'll never come true._

 _I'm chained to this life like a mistreated dog_

 _And any attempt I take to leave won't work_

 _I should know_

 _I've tried to get out before._

 _Sure,_

 _There are bright spots_

 _In which I can pretend it's all okay._

 _But soon it shatters,_

 _And I am left broken again._

 _I am a house held together by duct tape:_

 _Bound to fall over soon and collapse,_

 _Barely even holding on_

 _Just waiting for the end._

 _Sometimes I dream of another life._

 _I know mine could end at any point,_

 _The wood overtaking the tape, as predicted,_

 _And I could shatter._

 _So why not?_

 _Sometimes it's nice to dream,_

 _Even if you know it'll end in heartbreak._

* * *

Sam read the paper. Then he read it again, and again, and once more before he could process what he was even seeing.

 _Dean wrote this?_ Dean _? Yes._ He could feel it. _Yes, Dean_ did _write this._

Sam wanted not to believe it, but it was beautiful and dangerous and sharp and somehow rough. And that's what Dean was. The poem could have no other author.

Why Dean would write this, though, was somewhat less of a concept to grapple with.

Dean had always faced demons, on the inside more so than out. Sam didn't know what they were, but he saw them in tired eyes, empty beer bottles, fake smiles, lies, and words that'd never reached the surface.

 _Except, it seems like they started to, somehow._

He'd had guesses, but one thing he'd had no clue about was the fact that Dean didn't want this life. Sam had tried so damn hard to leave… he never would have thought that Dean had been there too.

He thought about it for a moment before it hit him.

 _Dean had one reason to stay that I didn't: Me._

And he buried his hands in his hair and sunk down onto his elbows at the desk he sat at.

Sam couldn't help it; he cried. For his selfishness, for Dean and what he gave up, for all the possibilities that neither one of them got to live out.

And when he resurfaced, there was a new sort of heaviness to his movements, a new concentration.

He folded up the poem, putting almost too much care into every crease, and replaced it in his jacket pocket.

 _When Dean gets back, I'll put this in his pocket and he'll never know. Then, I'll leave him alone,_ he thought. _He's happier, what else matters? If he needs me, I'm here._

 _I'm here._

And he sat in the empty house, thinking in the silence until it was to be disrupted again.

* * *

The next day, Sam went up to Bobby.

"You think the way Dean's acting… you think it'll last?" He asked, trying to be casual.

Bobby turned to look at him for a moment, studying the look he found on Sam's face before coming up with a reply.

"I hope so," he eventually let slip out, and they both turned to look out the window, where they could see Dean meandering to and from the shed for tools before going under the Impala for a tune up.

They sat in silence for a long time, and Sam let it go.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading, guys. Means a lot you stick with this thing. Oh! Thanks for over 100 comments! They make my day every time I see one.

I still don't know where this is going, really, but I have a feeling it might be over soon or be 100 chapters. That makes me a bit worried seeing as I have no plans, but I could be wrong on both accounts, no promises!

Comment Responses~

Jennytork- Woohoo glad you liked the last one and I hope that his was worth the wait, even though it was short.

Spica M- I hope this wasn't too bad of a wait. I like your idea of him finding the book around Faith… hmmm…. Think about this, what if he finds it when Dean goes to hell? That would be something, yeah? I definitely agree about it being against Jess' memory… I didn't think about her telling him about it, but she so totally did, you're right! Awhile has passed since Dean set his checks to go Bobby's, so it's not too soon. I have ideas about old John… but Dean will want to avoid him finding out at ALL COSTS, so we'll see. I'm just excited for Castiel to be honest, but we have a WHILE before that… *sighs* I don't mind your long reviews, in fact I LOVE them! Ramble all you want, thank you for your good questions and additions that make my book more fluent.

Irreality- Yipee! I am glad Sam worked for ya! I hope you liked this poem, and we'll see if it makes anything. I have a feeling Dean's adventures will inspire much more writing than we will ever see, but I'll try.

Kathy- It was so nice to see you review twice, I really appreciated the feedback on both chappies! I'm glad you liked hearing Dean's inner thoughts, and that Sam worked for you. I hope this poem is good (and the pressure is okay, I have learned that people actually enjoy whatever poems I churn out no matter how bad I think they are so… eh) I hope you got to see enough of Sam here to satisfy!

Hectatess- Thanks for the Sam compliments! They mean a lot... a super lot. And sneaky Sammy always gets his way! (and his hands on the poem paper)

Tempermental18- Glad you came out for the last one, and I hope that you can spare the time to read this real quick!

Ncsupnatfan- Hope this is good. Maybe Dean will start hinting soon, but who knows?

Alexandria M. R- I deeply thank you for both of your lovely reviews. I hope that you enjoy(ed) reading the rest of WTE and this chappie.

Scarlett- Nice to hear from you again! I'm glad you thought I did well with Sam- what about this time? As for your high praise on "favorite fic" thank you, but I don't think I can accept the "well thought-out" compliment lol. I literally have no plans anymore… I never thought I'd get this far!

Tsunamijackson- Glad you're excited, and I hope this lived up to those expectations!

Hey- Woohoo, glad to see you liked Sam's thoughts in the last one! Don't worry about being demanding... I never read it that way haha.

Rogue8496- It's totally fine about missing some chappies, I know as well as the next person that life gets in the way all of the time. I hope you have a grand week this week as well!

Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- :DD I too was screaming about Sam getting close! I hope this lives up to what you hoped and I was really happy to see your review as usual! Keep bein' awesome!


	20. Waiting for

A/N: Hi. I'm not dead, I know it's a surprise to everyone. Anyway, if you want an explanation read my footnote. If not, I won't keep you from reading this. BTW- we're back to our boy Dean, this is no longer Sam's pov.

I really hope you like it and have a pleasant rest of your day.

* * *

Last time on WTE: Sam finagled one of Dean's poems out of his jacket pocket, read it, got emotional over how emo it was, then decided to put it back and leave Dean alone. This is because he A. felt guilty for prying, B. felt that Dean would tell him eventually, and C. thought "hey who gives a shit as long as Dean is happy and it's not illegal."

* * *

Dean was pleasantly surprised at how everything had fallen into place.

He had been almost entirely sure that Sam would be on his ass about why he was acting so weird, Bobby would be on his ass about the locket cover up, and Kendra would be on his ass about his next meet up and writing his next book, which he needed to have the concept sent to her next month and the first chapter done the month after that. But, none of that had happened.

They chilled at Bobby's, he'd deposited his check into the only legitimate bank account he owned, Sam had backed off, and some people from his convention that he gave his email to had taken him up on asking questions. It was honestly a bit overwhelming, as he sat down to check his inbox out of boredom one day and saw he had three new messages from people he didn't know. Still, out of partial boredom and partial curiosity, he ended up reading through them.

"Dear Mr. Campbell," The email started off.

 _Oh,_ Dean thought, _it's from one of the convention people._

He scrolled down ot the bottom quickly to see that it was from Cicely Eadmond, whose name he recognized, before scrolling back to the top to read her email.

* * *

Dear Mr. Campbell,

First, I'd like to heartily thank you for holding that meet-up to discuss your book, _Mary's Gold_. As I told you, the book was there in my time of need and it very much helped me process my loss through the beauty of your words. My family and friends also have told me I've been talking about the discussions we all had much too often, so it was something that will stick with me for a long time.

I hope you are doing well, and while thanking you is important to me, I wanted to take you up on your offer to ask you a question:

Do you mind explaining to me how you know so much about monster lore? I understood, from your talk, why you include them, but some of the things you mention in your poems I'd never heard of before. As a result, I am very curious as to if you made them up, read them in a book somewhere, or did actual research on the subject.

Of course, if you cannot or choose not to reply, I understand.

Again, thank you for your time.

Cicely Eadmond

* * *

The odd feeling that Dean remembered when he walked into the conference room was back, the one that made him feel like a fraud. This woman thanked him, wrote a much-too-formal email, and sounded so hesitant in the question she asked that Dean was almost scared to answer. Her respect and admiration was a lot to handle, and Dean wasn't sure how he felt about it. All he'd done was write a book and barely talk about it.

So, instead of thinking, he went to the next email.

"Hello Mr. Campbell," it began, and Dean knew he wouldn't be getting away from the odd feeling as soon as he hoped.

However, he decided to keep reading to see what its contents were.

* * *

Hello Mr. Campbell,

You said to email you with questions, so here I am! I was wondering if you'd shed some light on your poem "The Sun's Facade" (page 38 in MG). I wanted to know if you meant (at the end) looking up to the sun or like… Looking up at _the son_ , as in your brother Sammy, who, as we know, frequents the rest of your poetry.

Would love a response!  
Thanks, Gina Rajawat

* * *

Dean recalled Gina as well, bringing forth a mental picture of a young Indian woman who'd loved one of his poems on isolation.

The tone of her email was much more relaxed so he thought he might as well reply. Her question was also easy to answer, and Dean went through the poem in his head quickly before thinking of what he might say to her.

* * *

 _Sometimes it's hard to put it all behind me_

 _When the gunslinging gallant facade breaks down_

 _And I have to find somewhere to build it back up_

 _It's hard to pretend I'm okay_

 _When really, all I want to do_

 _Is lay down and die_

 _But I know, that even though I wish it sometimes,_

 _That I couldn't, I wouldn't, I shouldn't_

 _Because there is more to this than me and my broken masks,_

 _Me and my selfish wants,_

 _Me and my hopeless dreams_

 _But sometimes it's hard to put those things behind me,_

 _Realize that I am not the sun,_

 _And turn my gaze skyward to see the one that this life revolves around_

* * *

In doing so, he realized that she was right. He'd left the ending vague enough with his phrasing of "the one" that it could be interpreted as Sammy or the literal sun.

 _Especially because that bitch is taller than me_ , he added half-grumpily.

Dean pursed his lips and thought about the poem, not remembering when he'd written it besides sometime in high school, around his senior year before he dropped out. It'd all seemed pointless then, but he'd kept going because he wanted to be a role model for Sam still. Eventually that'd dropped because they hadn't had enough money and Dean had to take a full-time job to pay for the rent on their apartment because John took longer than he thought and, as usual, there wasn't enough money to get them through.

Dean shook his head.

 _She doesn't need to know all of that._

Feeling slightly generous, Dean clicked the reply button and typed out a response quickly.

* * *

Gina-

Please don't bother calling me Mr. Campbell, it makes me feel too old. Dean will do just fine!

As for your question, it really is ambiguous, so I think I meant it to mean both the sun in the sky and my brother. But, nice catch. Thanks for the question, feel free to inquire again if you have another.

-Dean

* * *

Then, he moved to the third email, not bothering to preface it before diving in.

Dean,

I know you said to use this to ask you questions but… After your talk I was so inspired that I wrote a poem of my own! I was hoping you might read it, perhaps give me feedback? Anyway, this is my thanks for talking like you did. It meant a lot.

* * *

words flow out of my mouth

i do not tell this story often

but here i am

in a room full of strangers

spilling my life into their ears

O-o-O-o-O

my heart overflows with feeling

i do not let it become so full often

but here i am

in a room full of weepers

caring about them like best friends

O-o-O-o-O

my hands shake heavily now

i do not think i could write

though i want to

i want to say how much this moment

of strangers, of weepers, of storytellers and humans

has brought us together

and me away from the numbness of monotonized living

but i cannot through my shaking hands

so instead i open my heart to the moment

let my words come out and

let go

* * *

Thank you,

Raleigh Wright

* * *

When he'd finished reading the email, Dean shut the screen quickly, feeling emotions well up inside of him.

It was funny how much words on a screen could affect him, pulling him from boredom to shock in almost five minutes.

 _Somebody wrote me poetry._ His brain screamed over the rest of its churning. _Somebody was there, at that convention, and it touched them so deeply that they wrote poetry about it and_ sent it to me _._

That was the part that got him, the fact that after those people had been so vulnerable in that room, and instead of building a wall back up around themselves, which he'd done immediately to make sure he could focus on research, they'd keep their defences down and- in this person's case- wrote poetry about it. And sent it to him, therefore keeping that wall down while around him.

That showed serious trust, and Dean couldn't believe that a stranger he'd met once for maybe two hours could hold that for him. Dean knew he didn't even hold himself that defenceless around Sam, who was the most important and trusted person in his life.

He mulled over that for another minute before snapping the screen back up and rereading the email to make sure he hadn't just hallucinated for the past five minutes.

He hadn't.

So, he slowly typed out a response.

* * *

Raleigh-

Thanks for the poem, it is very open, honest, and trusting. Tells me a lot about the kind of person you are that you sent it to me. And I thought it was very good! Of course, I'm no professional opinion or anything, but the repetition into free unstructured verse was nice, I feel like it illustrated how you tried to hold yourself together but then realized it was futile. I think that's kind of what happened to me at the meet up too.

I appreciate your kind words.

-Dean

* * *

It felt like he wasn't the one writing it, but Dean shrugged and pressed send anyway. The girl would probably be happy just getting a response anyway. He whipped up a reply to Cicely as well before setting the computer aside, as Sam would be back soon.

The whole experience was weird for him, but it was nice to know that there were people who cared about his work. It lead to more as well, the women kept emailing him, and he kept sending things back as a sort of pen pal arrangement when he had time to, of course.

It was hard to keep it from Sam, but thankfully Dean knew how and when to have some email time after years of trying to keep Sammy out of his personal shit. So, while annoying, it wasn't a huge problem.

Slowly, his confidence in his skills as an author began to rise with the constant praise coming in. Dean had been writing more and more poetry than usual, and now kept a small notebook and mini pencil in his pocket to write down ideas as they came.

It made for some awkward moments when he had to plead bathroom breaks to scribble something down, and Sam looked at him weirdly after one occasion where he might've stayed in the bathroom a suspiciously long time, but he had never felt more productive than the current rate at which he was writing.

With his new found confidence, when Kendra next harassed him about his deadlines, he snarked that the ladies would love whatever he put out, and she just replied, "I know they would honey, but that'll only be the case if you dish out something out at all, so get to work!"

He supposed he couldn't have it all, but everything was looking pretty good to him, better than it had in a long while.

* * *

A/N: Hey y'all. What can I say? I had no more plans for this plot, life ran away with my will to do anything with this story, I joined a new fandom and didn't touch SPN for like five months? All of that is true, but none of it is satisfactory. I sincerely apologize for the atrocious wait with all my heart. And while this shit chapter barely begins to make up for it, I have a fringe of an idea for what might come up soon.

That being said, I AM A SLAVE TO HEADCANNONS. If you have them please give them to me and like 99% I'll include them in this story. If you want to see something it will fuel me and you will have an update sooner than you would otherwise. Not that you have to! Of course not. But I'd appreciate it, for real.

Also idk what the fuck Dean even is in this chapter. It's 3:30 am, I'm tired, and I'm 98% sure he's hella OOC. Please give me your opinion.

And I know that there are some of you that have probably give up on me. I'm really sorry for that, especially those that used to be enthused about this thing. Sorry to have let you down.

LASTLY before I respond to your age-old reviews: I wrote an angsty one-shot like a month ago that you should go check out. It's one of my best pieces, in my opinion, called "Unwanted." It's set pre-series, about Sam leaving for Stanford, and I've been told that it's "gut-wrenching". :D So if you want something to counter the light one of this chappie... you should check it out.

Review responses:

Kathy- Yes! I'm so happy you liked Sam, I wasn't sure I was pinning him down quite right, and I'm glad you're still enjoying what I've been regarding as my neglected garden recently lol. Hope you're still reading even after my long break, and that this is still okay.

Rimeko- Believe me, I never though Sam would find out like he did, but I'm glad it played out like it did, it seemed realistic to me, at least. Glad you liked the poem, hope the ones in here are still good!

Tittykat- You're right, it could be better. But, instead of just telling me that plain sentence, it would be more helpful if you gave me specific things to work on, like sentence structure, characterization, flow, holes, etc. Or, if you don't like the story, you don't have to read it.

Hecatess- You don't know how much of a struggle it was not to make Dean go to college in this fic. Like, I really wanted him to go because I think he would largely benefit from the experience of it, even online classes or community college. But it just didn't fit, so instead we get him angsting about his irregular life and Sam finding out about it. Glad you enjoyed.

scoutbokmal- I'm really sorry but I don't think I got your pm… :( Anyway, the poem you sent here is lovely! I really like the amount of feeling I see in it, the sorrow and pain that is being shared between the speaker and the object of the poem is really deep, and I think that the message it holds is strong and important in today's society. Thank you for sharing it with me very much.

Scarlett- I still don't deserve your kind words, honestly. Especially so after how long this last break in my writing has been, and the extremely low quality of this chapter. However, your words make me smile and are part of the reason why I scrounged up the willpower to actually sit down and write this chapter lol.

Spica M- your words mean too much, as do your ramblings. They made me come back to this story and thanks to your (and a couple others') persistence I am trying to write this story again. Thank you for your patience and caring check-ins. I appreciate them very much. I hope this was not a disappointing update.

Ncsupnatfan- Sam definitely will have more time before he lets Dean know that he is aware of the poetry writing. But, of course, he has no idea about MG. So we'll see how that goes. Thank you for your encouragement, it means a lot!

Tsunamijackson- Yes, Sam knows, how exciting! I have a couple ideas for how Dean might find out, and a couple about how he might not find out… We'll see how it goes. If you have an idea, feel free to let me know! I'd love to hear it. I hope that even after six months, this chappie can still get you excited!

iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife- I KNOWWWWWW WE'D BEEN WAITING SO LONG FOR THAT MOMENT AIEEEEEE! I'm glad you were excited that Sam's in the know, and I know this isn't advancing that, but I hope that you can wait until we come back to him, because believe me I will!

Rogue8496- Thank you so much for your continued support! I hope your story is going along better than mine lol

lovejensenacklesforever- …Thank you so much for being the well-deserved kick in the ass I needed to write this chapter. Like honestly. Without you this wouldn't exist at all. So, I dedicate this one to you, and here's an original (non fanfic) poem to sweeten the deal:

O.o.O.o.O

I cannot even fathom what life will be like

beyond this safe warm house.

I cannot even dare to dream

what it will be like away from your grasp,

your grounding comfort, and your hands:

gentle and loving;

your words:

harsh but comforting and playful.

I don't know how I'll do without, to be honest,

and the fact that I even have to say goodbye

sends pain searing through my soul.

And though I know that this does not mean forever,

I feel the Earth shaking beneath my feet.

And, when it stills,

I know nothing will be the same again.

So, therefore, I try to cherish the warmth that this house provides

knowing all too well it will soon be left,

cold and emptied of the souls it houses.


End file.
